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THE COMMENCEMENT OF CRIME. 


4 





GLAND 


BOYS 


OR, THE 


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BJ A. L. STIMSON. 


SEitl) ©ri^inal JEtXtnan, ^En^raac^ iig N. ®rr> 



NEW YORK: 

J. 0. DERBY, 119 NASSAU STREET. 

CINCINNATI :— H. W. DERBY. 

1856. 

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W, H. T1N8ON, Stereotyper. 


JOHN J. REED, 

STBKBOTTPKa JXD PRINTK*, 

16 Spruce Street, N. T. 


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AND CORDIAL REGARD FOR A NUMEROUS CLASS OP UPRIGHT, 
INTELLI^NT, AND ENERGETIC CITIZENS, 


THE EXPEESS-MEN OR AMERICA, 

THIS WORK 

“Ss ^tttuiTtaAjels littJuateli to Ij&tm is t^oir 

THE AUTHOR. 



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The contents of this book concern every class of character as 
comprised in commercial communities. Boston bars and Boston 
boys — ^New York novelties, and New York nuisances — the evils 
of intemperance, the dangers of dissipation, the follies of fashion, 
and the wages of sin in large cities, are all illustrated in these 
lucubrations, if the author has hit what he aimed at. 

In the three printer’s apprentices, Edwin FiJRBANKS, Nathan 
Mudoe and Thomas Braxton, the author has portrayed three kinds 
of youth, — ^the first, a lad of correct principles, industrious habits 
and ambitious to excel as a good citizen, — ^the second, “ a real 
good-hearted boy,” but full of fun and conviviality, and easily 
led astray by his fellow apprentice, Thomas Braxton, whose 
precocity in vico^ and low indulgences, we see paralleled daily in 
the conduct of numerous half-grown men about town. 

We observe the career of these young persons, from youth to 
manhood, and along into more mature age, and see the seed, 
which they have severally sown, produce its legitimate fruits. In 
the idle and vicious, “ the six degrees of crime, — ^wine, women, 
gambling, theft, murder and the gallows”— are all attained; 


viii 


PREFACE. 


while the good and the true, impelled by an honorable ambition 
Becure the rewards of vii'tuous merit. 

In the character of the stalwart and sterling Massachtisetts 
Farmer — “John Hard” — the author has aimed to paint the 
Yankee as he is ; peculiar, perhaps, but relieved of the grotesque 
absurdities attributed to him in the calumnious representations of 
him, upon that popular vehicle of caricature, the stage. Our 
artist, in delineating the features and person of Mr. Hard, has not 
done justice to the good looks of our agricultural friend, but as he 
has represented him as seen in conditions of great mental excite- 
ment, the pictures may be more correct than we imagine. 

In describing some traits of life at the Five Points, as seen 
nearly twenty years since, any allusion which would be likely to 
offend delicacy and decorum, has been instinctively avoided in 
these pages. The origin of the poor little Newsboy, who was 
“ not born, but washed ashore,” it may not be superfluous to say, 
was recorded, in a paragraph, many years before Mrs. Stowers 
original and admirably delineated negro character, “ Topsy,^^ 
b^ame patent. The infantine history of “ Scratch Gravel,” was 
no new thing at the Five Points, and similar cases have occurred 
often, and will again, it is to be feared, notwithstanding the 
philanthropic labors of Rev. Mr. Pease, and the ladies of the 
Mission. 

For the anecdotes of the Hat Familt, of South Carolina, the 
author is indebted to a little book which has been out of print for 
a quarter of a century past. 

In the hard fortune of Easy Nat, who was brought to the igno- 
minious scaffold, upon presumptive proof, for a crime of which he 


P KE F AC E . 


ix 


was wholly innocent, the author has endeavoured to illustrate the 
danger of convicting, in capital trials, solely upon Circumstantial 
Evidence. 

In the memorable case of Professor John W. Webster (men- 
tioned more at length in the body of this work), every link in the 
chain 'of proofs was perfect, and he merited his fate ; but, indubi- 
tably, many have suffered penal death, upon mere fragmentary 
testimony, and conclusions hastily founded upon a basis mainly of 
surmise and prejudice. A large number have been found “ guilty 
upon the supposed existence of an animus, or motive to commit 
the crime ; with scarcely any proof of the act, itself. Burning 
with wholesome indignation at the discovery of a murder, or any 
capital offence, the incensed people, in hot haste, demand a victim 
in atonement ; and if a person be accused, they appear always 
more inclined to decide him guilty, by acclamation, than to be 
fastidious in regard to any flaws or incompleteness in the evidence 
against him. 

How many remain to suffer from the like injustice, no man of 
course can number ; but if this book shall have the effect to 
dimmish, in any degree, the amount of judicial murder, in future ; 
or if (looking at the more general object of the work) it shall 
reclaim one tippling husband, or pluck from the vortex of fashiona- 
ble vice one darling son, or lead back into the path of virtue any 
wayward brother, the author will feel more than compensated for 
the labor which — amid the multifarious calls and cares of a busi- 
ness more unfavourable to intellectual abstraction than any other 
— he has spent upon the production. He claims for it no literary 


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CHAPTER I. 

Pag* 

Introduces the principal Personage in our true History — His 
Mother and Sister — ‘ Poor and Content is Rich’ — Temptation 
resisted 9 

CHAPTER II. 

Admits the Reader to the Printing Office, and introduces Right 
and Wrong — The Old Apprentice and the New one — Our Hero 
learns to drink beer — The Convivialists surprised — ^A pattern 
for Printers 17 

CHAPTER m. 

The Tempter and the Tempted — Certain curious Facts about 
Braxton and Boarding Houses — Thespian Theatres — ^Nathan 
is led to the Flip— The Declaration and the Lie . . .23 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Boys in Bed — ^A Peep into the History and Character of 
Edwin — Nasal Gymnastics — ^the Influence of Right and of 
Wrong upon Nathan — Right for once prevails . . .33 

CHAPTER V. 

Introduces the several Members of Giles Godwin’s Family, 
including his Pretty Daughter — ^A word about Poor Men seek- 
ing Rich Wives — Poverty, for once, a recommendation — The 
Sweethearts— An Errand of Charity 39 


xii 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Pag# 

The visit to the Poor Irish Family — The Wake — The Frenzy of a 
Bereaved Mother — Wrong and AMction make even the 
Illiterate eloquent — The Penurious Apothecary — The Street 
Rowdies — The abode of Susan, the Sempstress — The walk 
home 46 


CHAPTER VII. 

Nathan becomes an attendant at the Thespian Theatre — Tom 
Braxton as Hamlet — The Folly of Eunice Scammons — She 
joins the Forrestians — More Temptations — Our Hero learns to 
drink Wine — The Apology for Genteel Groggeries — Nathan 
visits them, and is convinced by Braxton of their harmless- 
ness 53 


CHAPTER Vin. 

The Boyish bacchanals steal home — Nathan grows Impudent, 
and Thomas Quarrelsome — They plimder the Pantry, and 
steal their Master’s Wine — The New Apprentice insults the 
Senior, and provokes his Punishment — They are discovered by 
their Master — Hjs grief — The Scene in the Cellar — Giles God- 
win sets an extraordinary Example to ‘ the Gentlemen of the 
Old School’ 61 


CHAPTER IX. 

Nathan Improves and Relapses again — Takes Lessons in 
Hypocrisy — A few Reflections* on the Gentility of Guilt — 
Broken Promises — ^Nat’s Mother becomes very lU — He breaks 
his Resolve, and joins a Row^dy Party on a Sleigh-ride — ^De- 
scription of a Popular Hotel in Cambridge — Hot Words and 
Hot Suppers 69 

CHAPTER X. 

The Bacchanalians set out for Boston — The Assault on a Col- 
lege Boarding-house — The Dickens with the Old Driver — A 


CONTENTS. 


xin 


Rough and Tumble—' Watch ! Watch !’— The Flying Horses 
-offer an eligible Prospect of Broken Nocks — The Apprentices 
in the Custody of the Watch — The unexpected Encounter with 
Giles Godwin — The Terrible Development — ^Nathan at the 
Death-bed of his Mother — The D6noument . . . .75 

CHAPTER XI. 

Nathan comes nigh to follow his Mother — Is saved through the 
kindness of Kate Godwin — Recovers his Morals and his 
Health — Edwin Fairbanks leaves Cambridge to Pursue his 
Studies with more Economy in the Country — His Parents — 

The Secret Intemperance of his Father, the only bar to the 
Happiness of his Family — The Domestic Quarrel — The Stu- 
dent domiciliates himself in a Deserted Lighthouse . . 83 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Intrigues of the Wicked Apprentice — The Wretchedness of 
Susan Mudge — The Tailor-Tyrant — ^Advocacy of the Semp- 
stress — Susan is Persecuted by a Rou4 — -'Her Hlness, and 
Voyage to the Capes . • 89 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Packets sometimes Perilous — D’Orsay on the Sea — Kate and 
Susan are Grossly Insulted — The Packet^ is Wrecked, and*the 
Girls are left to Perish — They are Miraculously Preserved by 
the Student of the Lighthouse — An Eclaircissefnent. . 96 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Plot upon plot — Natlian is again led astray by Braxton — ^Edwin 
Fairbanks is accused of a crime — His accuser recants — Brax- 
ton is compelled to wed Eunice — Nat elopes with Kate God- 
win — Becomes a Drunkard — Is brought before the Police, 
along with his Companion — Braxton is sent to the House of 
Correction 104 


XIV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Pag» 

Braxton the House-breaker, and his Dupe — Nat involves him- 
self in a Capital Crime — Thomas fires the House of Giles God- 
v^— -Eunice and her Child Perish in the Flames — Braxton 
Escapes, and Easy Nat is Arrested as the Incendiary , . 10& 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Nathan Madge is arraigned for Arson — The fury of the multi- 
tude against him — He is defended by the new pleader, 
Edwin Fairbanks — The Verdict! — The Fire-raiser in the 
gallery — The Discovery — His Flight . . . .114 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Pursuit — Dock-square and Ann-street — Pursuer at Fault 
— The Suspicious Fisherman — An Eccentric, well known 
Character introduced — Scene in an Ann-street Auction Room 
— The Accidental Detection — The Seizure Unsuccessful . 124 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Reverts to the Court Room — The Parting of Kate with her Hus- 
band — Ossified Hearts tried some — Old Reed — ^Pictvures from 
Life — ^Nathan is remanded to Jail 135 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Jolly Companions every one — A Champagne Supper at the 
Hotel — A Free Blow — Harry Price is Twenty-One — D’Orsay 
reappears on the stage — Major Sotterly’s Grand Entree — 

— Practical Joke on a Native of the Palmetto State— How he 
Turns the Tables 139 


CHAPTER XX. 

The Preacher tells the story of Peter and John Hay, the South 
Carolina Planters — The Forfeit Paid 149 


CONTENTS. 


XV 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A Hard Customer — Tall specimen of a Yankee Farmer — Tom 
Braxton’s Flight — Earthing the Varmint — Great Battle and 
Conflagration in the Black Sea — The Yankee and the Fire- 


men 170 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Is like Monday’s Picked-up-Dinner, one of Fragments . . 182 

CHAPTER XXIII. 


The Wounded Man — The Breakfast at Godwin’s — Reappear- 
ance of John Hard — The public feeling against Nathan — 
Giles is down upon the Newspapers 187 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Love’s Sacrifice— Susan proposes to Relinquish her Attorney, 
and Drop the Suit — The Protest — An eminent Thief-Taker 


is introduced — Strange Incident 196 

CHAPTER XXV. 

The Sentence 203 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Mysterious Disappearance of Kate — The Letter — D’Orsay at 
Home — His Store in Broadway — The Burglary — Braxton 
again at his Old Tricks — Kate in New York . . . 209 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Introduces the Felon’s Wife to the Great Metropolis — How a 
Stranger ought to take New York — Hunting for a Needle in a 
Hay Mow — Two Phases of Life in a Great City — Two Speci- 
mens of Lodging-houses — Kate is Guilty of a great Indiscre- 
tion — The Ruined Girl — Mrs. Mudge consents to meet 
D’Orsay . • . 221 


CONTENTS. 


xvi 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


p*«« 

John Hard seeks his Fortune — Takes his first Ride in the Cars — 

Is compensated for leaving one Interesting Family by finding 
another — He arrives in New York 232 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Mr. Hard’s Grand Reception in New York — One Hundred Car- 
riages, or less — A slight difference between hostile Hackmen 
— The Hospitable Stranger — The Pickpocket — The Pursuit — 

Mr. Hard meets with an Old Head upon Young Shoulders — 

The Newsboy ......... 237 


CHAPTER XXX. 

New York Cries — The Radish Girl — A Gentleman in Distress — 

John Hard’s opinion of New York Milk — Finds a Hotel . 246 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

A strange Adventure to Kate on her way Home — The Crushed 
Child — The Tricks of Trade — A Death-bed at the Five 
Points — Scenes in Low Life 253 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

Life and Death near the Old Brewery — The Somnambulist . 262 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Developes some Facts of the utmost Importance to Scratch 
Gravel — The Suicide — Foul Wrong somewhere in High Life 272 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

John Hard stumbles into a Difficulty, and is Challenged — De- 
clines being Bored, and volunteers an Opinion, as is an 
Opinion, upon Duelling 285 


CONTENTS. 


XTii 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

The Great Run — Bascomb and Postboy — Humors of a Race- 
course 


294 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

The Thieves in Disguise — The Second Heat — Bascomb the Vic- 
tor— The Row, and the Prize Fight 304 

CHAPTER XXVTI. 

John Hard and his Southern Friends visit the Opera — John’s 
Opinion of Opera Music — His Description of one Scene — Finds 
Tom Braxton in one of the Galleries — A Striking Incident . 313 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

D’Orsay’s Cave at Holt’s — The Infidel Disciple and his Prac- 
tices — Kate in the Lion’s Den — The Assault — The Invisible 
Defender — The Murder 312 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

John Hard on Hand, with one Boot — The Murderer at Bay, 
Defies Arrest — John becomes a Battering Ram — Tom Brax- 
ton Escapes through the Window — Kate the Instrument of 
Just Retribution — Death of D’Orsay — Kate, threatened with 
Imprisonment, is saved by Harry Price .... 329 

CHAPTER XL. 

The Murderer’s Trial — ^He seeks to Implicate the Innocent — 

John Hard Badgered by a Lawyer — Kate’s Interview with 
her Husband — Penitence and Pride — ^Nathan on a Good Foun- 
dation 341 


CHAPTER • XLI. 


Love in High Life — Harry Price in Upper Ten-dora — The 
Freaks of Cupid — The Rival Sisters ..... 354 


xviii 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER XLII. 

l‘8g» 

The Dinner at Judge Bogardus’s — Helen changes her Opinion 
of Edwin Fairbanks — The Jealousy between New York and 
Boston — General Jackson’s Administration, and the States- 
men of his Time — Singular Interruption to the Dinner Party 
— ^Entrance of Scratch Gravel — He claims a Father . . 368 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

The Foundling and his F ather — The Wild Oats Sown, and no 
Barn for the Crops — Cupid catches a Rara-Avis . . . 384 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

Braxton’s Life in the Tombs — John Hard in Prison — Tom 
Braxton consoles himself with Tom Paine .... 393 

CHAPTER XLV. 

The Visit to the Charity Hospital — More Rum Doings — The 
Tombs, and the Appeal to the Murderer — Littie Biddy in Bad 
Company — The course of True Love not always in Navigable 
Order — The Novel Eclaircissement 399 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

Kate Mudge alone with the Murderer — Her Entreaties in Vain 
— He offers Terms — His Plan of Escape — A Baron Trench 
— Scene in the Boston Jail — Nathan’s Execution Approaches 
— He Prepares to be Legally Murdered .... 408 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

The Fate of Easy Nat determined on by the Executive and 
Council, and approved by the People — Painful Interviews 
upon the Morning of his Execution 418 


CONTENTS. 


xix 


CHAPTER XLVm. 

. Shows how the Christian can meet Death, even though it be upon 
the Gallows — The Iniquity of Hanging upon Presumptive 
Evidence Illustrated — Scene at the Scaffold . . . 425 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

Arrival of Edwin and Kate— Braxton’s last Hour — A Joyful 
Sabbath — ^Edwin returns to New York — Meets with a Decla- 
ration of Love in Upper Ten-dom — The Proud Beauty hum- 
bled — Jenny’s Prospects improving — Harry Price does a sen- 
sible thing 441 


CHAPTER L. 

. The Upper Crust — Intended Marriages in High Life — Scratch 
Gravel enjoys an Aristocratic Adoption — The Great Fire — 

Will Saltpetre Explode? — Great doings in Boston — Gener^ 
Results in particular — The End 455 








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NEW ENGLAND BOYS: 

OB, THB 

THREE APPRENTICES. 


CHAPTER I. 

# 

Introduces the principal personage in our true history — His mother 

and sister — ‘ Poor and content is rich ’ — Temptation resisted. 

* Hurrah, mother cried Nathan Madge, as he rather 
ran than walked into the humble room where his only sur- 
viving parent lay ill, and tossed his cap playfully at his 
sister, who, seated by the bedside, was busily engaged in 
sewing. 

* Hurrah cried Nathan, * another ’prentice is coming 
to-morrow, and I shan’t be the youngest any longer I 
Hurrah for our side !’ 

And he threw himself, in his rude, merry way, into his 
sister’s lap. But he sprang up again, with a hasty excla- 
mation of mingled pain and laughter, quicker than he sat 
down, for the needle in the work, which she had thrown 
down in some surprise, had penetrated his skin. 

* By George! Susy! What’s that?’ 

1 * 


10 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

Susan laughed till the tears came. Mrs. Mudge laughed, 
too, though uot so loud, for she was quite feeble. 

‘ You must be careful how you take such liberties with 
the ladies, Natl' said the invalid, kissing her son’s ruddy lips. 

*GorryI’ rejoined the young man, or the big ’boy, we 
hardly know which to call him, for he was a little of both, 
and not exactly either, * I wish their Tieedles would be 
careless how they take such liberties with me.’ 

Then Susy, who despite her unremitting toil, was a blue- 
eyed, contented creature, laughed again — evidently under 
the impression that there wasn’t such another brother, the 
wide world over. Whereat Nat gave her ripe cherry lips, 
such a buss as a certain young man of her acquaintance 
would have considered cheap at any price. ‘ Whew !’ 
said Nathan Mudge, smacking his mouth, ‘you’ve been 
eating honey, Susy I WovMnH Ed. Fairbanks like to taste 
it ! — ^perhaps not.’ 

‘ Do hear him 1’ said Susan, with a blush that must 
have rendered the Banks alluded to, very unsafe, had he 
seen it. ‘ Now, saucebox, tell us about the new appren- 
tice, not the old one. What’s his name V 

‘ The old one ? — Edwin Fairbanks,’ replied Nat, who 
was inclined to teaze his pretty sister, to whose attrac- 
tions, rather than his own, he ascribed an evening call 
which had been made upon them recently for the first time, 
by the young man whom he had named. 

‘ What a plague 1 Mother, do speak to him I’ cried 
Susy, in the prettiest vexation imaginable. 

‘ Oh !’ said Nat, elevating his brows, and opening his 
eyes, as if to let in a novel idea, ‘ you mean the %ew one I 
Oh I his name is Braxton.* 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 11 

‘ I wonder/ said his mother, ‘ if he is any relation to 
the rich coppersmith of that name ?’ 

‘I don’t know,’ replied ivat, ‘bnt I believe his folks 
live out of town. It’s so much the better if he’s been 
brought up in the country, ’cause then he’ll soon get used 
to carrying wood and luggin’ water up them plaguey stairs, 
which I’ve done so long for old Griles.’ 

*I won’t hear a word against Giles Godwin,’ began 
Susan, resuming her work. 

* Nor against his oldest ’prentice, I s’pose ?’ said her 
brother, maliciously, — ^making a feint to puU her nose, and 
getting his finger pricked for his pains. 

* No, my son,’ said Mrs, Mudge, ^ you must say noth- 
ing against the old printer. He has been a kind, good 
master to you I’ 

* Well, who said he hadn’t, mother ?’ exclaimed the im- 
pulsive ’prentice. * I’d like to see any one say so I That’s 
all. Perhaps I wouldn’t give him cheese I’ And he gave 
his cap, which had fallen upon the floor, a kick that sent 
it into the extremest corner of the room. 

This mistaking of an important article of his scanty 
wardrobe for a slanderer of the printer to whom he was 
indentured, elicited from his mother a gentle remonstrance 
against his neglect of his clothes; at which Nat laughed, 
and intimated that, as his master had been generous enough 
to increase his wages that very day to two dollars a week, 
and board, he could afford to consider his old cap as 
the representative of his calumniators, if any such there 
were, and to make a football of it, accordingly. 

* Have you seen the new boy — ^what’s his name ?— 


new ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


12 

Braxton V inquired Susan, burning off the end of her thread 
at the candle. 

*No, but I s^pose he’s green as grass, and bashful as a 
baby I’ 

' What makes you speak so rough, my son? You are 
too rude. Couldn’t you jusi as easily have said, that you 
expected to find the young man unsophisticated and 
diffident?’ 

With ludicrous gravity, Nathan repeated the word, un- 
sophisticated, as if to himself, and slowly counted its 
syllables upon his fingers. * Un-so-phis-ti-ca-ted, — six 
syllables 1 Oh, mother, don’t 1 Anything in reason, but 
I should have to chaw upon that for a week 1’ 

‘ What a boy you are, Nathan !’ said his mother, seri- 
ously, and averting her face to conceal a smile, for it was 
always in some such way that he evaded her remonstrances 
against his brusque, and sometimes rude, phraseology and 
manner. There were a great many silly and uncouth ex- 
pletives, such as ‘ By thunder I’ ‘ By gorry I’ etc., which 
her son had acquired from thoughtless or ill-bred playmates 
at school, which were very unpleasant to Mrs. Mudge, and 
she always strove to regard them with little lenity. But 
Nat felt that the smile was there, though he couldn’t see 
it, and, bending over the invalid’s couch, he kissed her cheek. 

* A torment I’ said Susan. ‘ Hadn’t you better go kiss 
Kate G odwin ?’ 

* Oh, I don’t care a fig about Kate Godwin 1’ said Nat 
hastily, and coloring a little, as he bent over the Bible, in 
which he was accustomed every evening to i^ad aloud to 
his mother. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


13 


* Ah, I forgot said Susan, who fancied that her brother 
had a penchant for his master^s daughter, and was inclined 
to retaliate a little, ‘I forgot that Kate’s kisses being 
probably the youTigest ’prentice’s perquisites, are no longer 
yours. Young Braxton will have them after this of course.’ 

' He 1 No, I’ll be hanged if he shall I exclaimed Nathan 
with some warmth, and turning over the leaves of the book 
in his hand with an energy the withstanding of which was 
highly creditable to both the binder and paper-maker. 
‘ Not,’ he added, as he looked up, and saw with some 
confusion the arch smile on the faces of his mother and 
sister, ‘ that I care a sous about the girl, but then — she 
has got sitch a handsome head of hair I ’ 

‘Well, well,’ said Susan, after a hearty laugh, ‘what 
business has her hair in your head ? Be quick and read 
your Bible, or you will have none of it left soon.’ 

Nathan had nothing to add, and without another word, 
he commenced reading aloud from the sacred volume. 
When he had read two or three chapters, which were 
listened to with devout attention, the children knelt by 
the bedside of their mother, while she raised her voice 
in supplication to the Almighty Helper of the widow and 
the fatherless. When she had concluded this scene, 
which was of nightly occurrence in that humble abode, 
Nathan bade his mother and sister an affectionate good 
night, and with a light heart, wended his way, as was his 
wont, to the home of Giles Godwin.’ 

‘ HuHo, Nat I Is that you ? ’ said some one, as our 
young friend was turning out of Court into Hanover 
street. It was one of a group of full grown boys, who 
were lounging at the corner. 


1^4 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

' Hnllo, Sam I ^ said Nat to the only one of the group 
whom he knew, and was passing on, without further col- 
loquy, for he disliked the practice of standing about the 
street at night, when he was overtaken by the youngster 
who had accosted him. 

' Hold on, Nat I ^ said this person. ‘ I'm goin' along 
down.' So they walked down Hanover street together. 

‘ Stop a minute I ' said he, when they had walked as 
far as an oyster shop (they were not styled ‘ saloons ' 
then), near the corner of Elm street, * I want to go into 
Hillbrook's here a moment, to see Bob Chisel. Come in. 
I'll go right down. What's yer hurry ? ' 

‘ I can't stop,' replied Nathan. ‘ I've got to split up a 
grist of wood before I go to bed I ' 

* Oh, let old Godwin split his own wood for once I 
Come, don't be tied to the bell-rope. Come in I ' 

Nathan disliked to comply, but, being of a yielding dis- 
position, he followed his companion into a room, the little 
end of which was an oyster stand, and the other, and by 
far the greater end, a bar, inlaid with looking-glass, and 
overladen with decanters of wines and liquors. The 
warmth of the room was very agreeable, for the Indian 
summer was past, and the November nights were cold. 
This seemed to be the opinion of a dark-complexioned, 
snub-nosed young man, in wide-bottomed pantaloons, and 
hair brushed down smooth over his cheeks, who, with his 
feet upon a table, was regaling himself with a glass in one 
corner of the shop. This gentleman was a carpenter's 
apprentice, familiarly known as Bob Chisel. 

* How are you, Sam I ' shouted Mr. Chisel, upon the 
entrance of his friend. * Goin’ down ? ’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


15 


* Yes/ replied the other. * What are yer drinkin^ ? ' 

‘ Tom-and-Jerry. Try some ? ^ 

^ Well I donT care !’ said Sam. * Hilbrook, give us a 
glass. Will you go some, Nat ? ’ 

* Me ? Oh no ! ' said Nathan. * I never drink.’ 

At this, Mr. Chisel, though it was rather rude of him, 
considering that he had no acquaintance with our young 
friend, burst into a loud laugh, and expressed a wish to 
have his leg sawed off, and a pearl button put on. 

Sam joined in the laugh, but perceiving Nathan’s em- 
barrassment, he begged the young man not to mind Bob, 
but of aU means to try a little Tom-and-Jerry, as it was 
only a mixture of the smallest possible quantity of wine 
with eggs dnd sugar, and was as mild as mother’s milk. 

StiU Nathan declined. 

* Aint that the stuff for trowsers I ’ said Sam, as he 
took his brimming glass from the bar-keeper, and held it 
up before him. And what with its rich yellow body and 
head of white, sprinkled with nutmeg, it did certainly ap- 
pear very tempting. 

* Just taste it ! ’ said Sam, presenting it to the printer’s 
apprentice. But the latter persisted in his refusal, and 
the joint and repeated persuasions of the two comrades 
could not persuade him to drink. 

* Got a ninepence, Sam ? ’ said Chisel, as he went to 
the bar to settle before leaving. * Confound it I I left 
my money in my other waistcoat ! ’ 

Sam replied that he had not * a red cent ’ about him. 

That’s bad I ’ said Mr. Chisel. * Perhaps your friend 
has got it. If he’ll lend it to me. I’ll hand it to you to- 
morrow.’ This indirect appeal to him elicited from the 


16 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

simple Nathan that he had ‘ three fp’pences ^ in his pocket. 
' That’ll jnst pay the bill, and get two cigars ; which, as 
I s’pose yon don’t smoke, will be jnst one a piece for Sam 
and me !’ said the carpenter’s apprentice. Nat disliked 
this manner of appropriating his money, but he hated to 
appear mean, ‘hnd, without a word, confided his funds to 
Mr. Chisel, who, after disposing of the same as he had 
suggested, took an arm of each and walked out of the 
shop. At the corner of Union street, Nat’s companions 
decided that they would go down to the theatre after a 
check, and, as our friend would not accompany them, they 
bade him good night — Mr. Chisel begging him at the top 
of his lungs, when he had got almost out of hearing, ‘ to 
co^ider them three fo’pences as good as wheat I ’ 

Nothing doubting the security of the debt, Nathan 
trudged cheerily on, whistlmg to himself, until he arriyed 
at the gate of one of those overhanging grotesque, an- 
tiquated, wooden dwelling-houses, of which, as relics of 
the old colony times, the North-end of Boston is very na- 
turally so proud. This was the residence of Giles God- 
win, the printer, and had been that of his family for seve- 
ral generations. Passing through the gateway, and over 
the paved walk in front, ffathan Mudge entered the house 
of his master just as the bell was ringing nine. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


It 


CHAPTER II. 

Admits the reader to the printing office, and introduces right and 
wrong — The old apprentice and the new one — Our hero learns to 
drink beer — The convivialists surprised — A pattern for printers. 

* Confound it said Nathan Mudge, as, almost out of 
breath one fine forenoon a few days after the occurrences 
just narrated, he set down a pail of water in Giles God- 
win’s printing office, * if it were not for the name of the 
thing, I might as well be ‘ youngest ’prentice ’ my whole 
lifetime ! ’ This remark was made to no one in particu- 
lar, but an individual, larger and apparently two or three 
years older than Nathan, with his shirt-sleeves rolled up, 
and a not very prepossessing face, begrimed with ink, took 
the occasion to turn from the window, out of which he 
had been looking lazily at the tide of people passing in 
the street below, and observe in a very unpleasant tone, 

* Well, aint yer the youngest ? ’Cause I happened to 
come here last, yon don’t s’pose I’m goin’ to do all the 
drudgery, do yer ? I’m older than yon are, if I am the 
youngest ’prentice I ’ 

‘ But,’ said a very pleasant-voiced person, who, besides 
the two boys, was the only one present, ‘ Nathan has made 
the fires, carried the water, and swept out, for more than 
two years. It is always the last boy’s duty, and of course 
is yours, but in three of the four days that you have been 
here, Nathan has done it for you. This isn’t right ’ 


i8 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

* I didn’t make him do it 1’ said the new apprentice. 
‘He does it of his own accord, so what’s the use of 
grumblin’ ?’ 

‘ Oh don’t make a fuss about it, fellers I’ said the easy 
Nathan, using his sleeve to wipe the perspiration from his 
round ruddy face, ‘ I’d rather carry fifty buckets o’ water 
np twenty flights o’ stairs every day, than have any 
words about it ! Anything for harmony 1’ 

‘ That’s the talk I’ said the new apprentice, with re- 
newed cheerfulness. ‘ Now I’ll treat 1’ and taking his 
cap, he left the office, 

‘ You are too easy, Nathan,’ said Edwin Fairbanks, the 
elder apprentice, glancing with his clear gray eye at his 
junior, as, leaving the bucket in a corner, the latter re- 
sumed his place at a stand near that at which his senior was 
getting type. ‘ Thomas Braxton imposes upon your good 
nature. If you suffer yourself to be taken advantage of 
in this way, you will never get along in the world !’ 

‘ Oh, I shall tell him one of these days that I won’t 
stand it I’ said Nat, looking very resolute. ‘ But he’ll do 
better bimeby, when he gets a little broke in 1’ It came 
hard to me at fust, and I swow I don’t blame him for not 
bein’ head over ears in love with it I He’s a clever feller 
to get us a luncheon, aint he, Ed I’ 

‘ I had much rather that he would be about his work,’ 
said Edwin, ‘ I don’t like to say anything to him, for 
Mr. Godwin is anxious to make him pleased with his situ- 
ation. He has been to half a dozen places, and left them 
all. The old man is a friend to some of his kinsfolks, and 
at tl.eir solicitations, he has taken Thomas to see if he 
cat'’ ■ make something of him.’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 19 

As the senior finished speaking, the youngest, or rather 
the new apprentice, entered the office, with a sheet of 
gingerbread in one hand, and a bottle of beer in the other. 

‘ Here she am !’ said he, setting the refreshments upon 
an imposing stone. ‘Walk up, gentlemen I walk up I’ 
And, helping himself to a glass of beer, and the lion’s 
share of the gingerbread, he bade the rest ‘ take hold.’ 
Respectfully declining the invitation, Edwin pursued his 
occupation without further remark, but Nat, who admired 
the free and easy manner with which his elder in age, but 
junior in ‘ the business,’ seated upon the imposing stone, 
was, to use his own phraseology, ‘ stowing the gingerbread 
into his countenance,’ and who felt, besides, himself a 
little "peckish, could not resist the temptation to take a 
bit of the cake. Certainly he felt that this little piece 
of conviviality was not exactly in keeping with the sedate 
character previously sustained by the office, and on which 
Giles prided himself, but as he thought there was no actual 
harm in it, this only added zest to the enjoyment. Even 
Edwin Fairbanks’ friendly intimation that Mr. Godwin 
might come in, only heightened the relish. 

‘ Take some beer I’ said Braxton, filling a glass, and 
presenting it to Nathan Mudge. The latter would have 
declined, but the gingerbread had made him dry, and his 
entertainer was urgent. ‘ It’ll do you good,’ said Brax- 
ton, with his mouth crammed full of cake, ‘ and ’ll wash 
down the crumbs. So down with it, old Smudge I’ The 
nickname thus given him, struck Nat as being so new and 
irresistibly humorous, that he came very near incapaci- 
tating himself for drinking beer or any thing else, by 
choking with laughter. ‘ Smudge That he should be 


20 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

called Smudge 1^ Could anything be more droll or comi- 
cal ? Smudge I Singular as it may appear, he took 
great delight in the appellation. * I’ll call you Smudge,' 
said the youngest apprentice, ^ and you call me Brax ! 
Now drink to eternal friendship ’tween us two, old 
Smudge !’ 

Nat laughed, and drank. He felt that he could not 
have avoided doing so, even though it were the deadly 
draught that was offered to the Athenian sage. There 
was something irresistibly comical to him in the idea, that 
this was the modest junior whom he had expected would 
look up to him for encouragement and direction — this the 
verdant and demure country boy, who would be grateful 
for any opportunity to make himself useful — this, the tyro, 
who for a fortnight at least, would hardly dare to speak 
above his breath, much less to say that his soul was his 
own — this, the bashful boy, taken all unwillingly from his 
mother’s apron-strings, and whom he had flattered him- 
self he should, by many an innocent wile, gradually and 
by slow degrees, inspire with confidence to look upon him, 
his elder, with feelings more akin to love than that awe 
which, of course (so Nathan reasoned, in the simplicity 
of his kind heart), he could not help feeling at first I 

And here he was with such a knowing, little gray eye, 
with crows’ feet around it already, and a wink, too — a 
wink that said as plain as words could, ‘ I’m up to every- 
thing 1’ Yes, here he was with long hair like the fashion- 
ables, and clothes as genteel as those of the Mr. Chisel 
who still owed him those three fo’pences. Seated, too, 
(only to think of it I) upon the imposing stone itself, 
kicking his heels, with the bottle to his mouth, and his 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


21 


cap * hind side afore/ as if he were lord of all he sur- 
veyed, if not more I And this was the ‘ youngest 
apprentice V 

Indeed, Master Braxton did present rather a queer 
appearance ; but scarcely more so than Nathan, who, with 
his cheeks full of gingerbread, of whiph edible he was 
holding a large-sized piece with his left hand towards his 
mouth, stood pointing at Tom with his right, and bend- 
ing — not to sa^ almost bursting — with laughter. 

Directly over the room in which the three apprentices 
were thus engaged, and which was occupied exclusively 
for setting type, a printing-press was in operation, and 
such was the noise it made, that the youngsters did not 
hear a footstep on the stairs, and the door open. Nor did 
they have any inkling of the approach of the unexpected 
visiter, xmtU he detected them precisely in the situation 
which we have described. It was old GUes Godwin, the 
master of the establishment I Quick as lightning, Tom 
Braxton crammed his remaining gingerbread into his 
mouth, slid the bottle under his vest, and sprang to hiu 
post at the case. Had he done this a moment sooner, 
Mr. Godwin might have been deceived, he looked so inno- 
cent ! Nathan Mudge, guilty and confused, remained 
where he stood when his master enteredi' 

Giles Godwin was something of an original, both in 
character and personal appearance. He was short, with 
broad, and so round that they almost amounted 
His lower extremities, with the exception of 
ich were very large, were small and dispropor- 
size of his body. His head, which scarcely 



his 
tioned* 


22 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

rose above his shoulders, was of unusual size, and over 
the broad, fair brow, his fine dark flaxen hair was parted, 
and fell in silken locks below a low-crowned, black hat, 
the wide brim of which rested upon his back. The 
appearance of his small blue eyes was singular, from the 
fact that they were either entirely devoid of, or he had 
little or no power over, the muscles by which to raise the 
lids ; the consequence of which was, that they were never, 
by any natural possibility, more than a quarter way open. 
This had the effect to heighten the meekness and benevo- 
lence of features otherwise firm and regular, and indica- 
tive of every good quality. 

His clothes were very quaint and old-fashioned ; con- 
sisting of a snuff-colored coat, with a large collar, a black 
vest, with immense pockets, and buff pantaloons very full 
around the body, and tapering down to nothing at the 
ankles. His hands, when not at work, were generally 
behind him. 

‘ How is this, Edwin V said (after a portentous silence) 
the personage whom we have attempted to describe, 
addressing his oldest apprentice in a tone of unwonted 
severity, and with a slight frown upon his brow. * You 
should not have permitted this I Never mind,^ he con- 
tinued, beckoning to Edwin to continue his work, * I see 
how it is. You had no hand in it. Nathan you should 
have known better. You will lead Thomas to th in]? that 
a printing office is a place for wassail. You shoulWiave 
more respect for our art. If any profession requires 
gravity of demeanor more than another it is ouff^ich 
has accomplished such grave results. Let this be the 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 2S 

last, as I believe it is the first, impropriety of the kind 
in my office. Don't speak, but go to your work, and try 
in future to set Thomas a better example I’ 

Nathan resumed his work without uttering a word, and 
endeavored, by his application for the rest of the day, to 
atone for the time which he had lost. When he had had 
his say, as narrated, old Giles hung his hat carefully on a 
well-worn peg, peeled off his snuff-colored coat, tied on a 
white apron, and with all his usual benevolence proceeded 
to show young Braxton how to do a certain piece of work 
which he wished to set him about. While he was doing 
this, the beer-bottle fell from beneath the apprentice's vest 
upon his master's corns. It was very painful, but old 
Giles contented himself with setting the bottle on the 
window-seat, and without a word went on as before. 


CHAPTER III. 

The Tempter and the Tempted — Certain Curious Facts about Brax- 
ton and Boarding Houses — Thespian Theatres — ^Nathan is led to 
like Flip— The Declaration and the Lie. 

When they had finished work for the day (which in 
winter was usually at seven o'clock), leaving Edwin to 
perform some job which his employer allowed him to do 
on his own account, Nathan, and his chum Braxton, left 
the office together, and proceeded homeward. 

' I aint goin' right home,' said Tom, after they had run 
and walked some distance over the ice with which the 
walks were coated. * Nor I neither,' said his companion, 


24 newenqlandbots,or 

I’m goin’ up to my mother’s in Temple street to spend the i 
evenin’. Where are you goin’ V 

* Not far,’ replied Braxton, sententiously. * WTiat time : 
shall you go home V 

About nine, Nat thought. 

* Blow this havin’ to get home Tore ten !’ grumbled 
Tom. ‘ This chil’ wont stand it always ! Well, call in at 
Baker’s oyster room for me as you come along, and I’ll go 
home with you. Smudge !’ 

Nathan replied that he would, and ran off thumping his 
hands together to keep them warm ; leaving his fellow- 
apprentice to follow his own course. 

And now, that, for the first time, we have him alone — 
a situation which of all others he liked the least — ^let us 
scrutinize the new apprentice a little more closely. Thomas 
Braxton was then in his eighteenth year, slim in proportions 
and rather below the height usual to boys of that age. 
His forehead was low, and his face small and colorless, 
save where it was blotched with pimples, but the features 
were regular and not unhandsome. His black hair, which 
owed its gloss to spurious bear’s grease, was worn long 
and straight, in imitation of the absurd fashion of that 
day. Though it was now December,. and the weather 
quite cold, he wore his large shirt-collar, turned down so 
low that fiis neck — ^the pomum Adami of which he greatly 
prided himself upon — ^was entirely exposed. This he took 
especial pains to, display, as he stood, where Nathan had 
left him, at the corner of Howard and Court streets, to 
every young woman that passed, but when none was near, 
he hugged his f^ed camlet cloak to his freezing chin with a . 
theatrical air,^>and muttered in a melo-dramatic tone, the 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


25 


words of Hamlet, ‘ The air bites shrewdly ; it is very 
cold I’ The character of Thomas Braxton, never very 
good, would have been much better had he never left his 
home in the country. Even the example of his father, ill- 
tempered and violent as he was, could never have vitiated 
him scrmuch as the life he led in the city. A cruel fla- 
gellation, which his parent inflicted for some trifling of- 
fence, had provoked him to run away from his paternal 
abode, three years before, and come to Boston. He was 
fortunate enough to obtain a situation immediately, and 
went to live at a cheap boarding-house in Court street. 
His fellow-boarders, of whom there were between twenty 
and thirty, were, with few exceptions, boys, like himself, 
from the country, with no parents to look after them, and 
no ties to attract them to their new fireside. They en- 
joyed none of that virtuous female society which does so 
much to polish and refine the sterner sex, and the conse- 
quence was, that however well they may have been reared, 
they soon became accustomed to rude, obscene and profane 
language. The boarding-house at night had no attractions 
for them, and they sought for excitement and amusement 
out of doors. A renegade from one faith to another will 
far outrun in zeal the most forward of its.#ldest profes- 
sors, and a boy from the country, once started in the chase 
of town pleasures will run them down (and himself with 
them) with ^infinitely more zest and recklessness than the 
most fool-hardy of the youth of the city. 0 1 what a sad 
mistake the farmer commits when he sends his children from 
all the healthy influences, moral and physical, of the coun- 
try, to live in large communities like JSTew-York or Boston, 
with no fireside to resort to but that of the public board- 
2 


26 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

ing-house, and no society but that of the careless and de- 
moralized I Keep your sons at the plongh. Are they 
ashamed of the occupation ? Do they aspire to higher ? 
There is none I There is a divine philosophy in all work ; 
but that of the tiller of the soil has ever been most favored 
of God. 

Thomas Braxton soon learned to do like his fellow- 
boarders. He did not spend his evenings as he found 
Edwin Eairbanks doing, years after, in reading, or in 
work, to obtain the means for a better education, but in 
loafing about the streets, the doors of the theatres, and 
other public places, with squads of idle companions. He 
soon learned to smoke ‘ long nines,’ and could expectorate 
as much tobacco-juice, per diem^ as any adult chewer of . 
them all. It was the use of this latter stimulus, which 
made the additional one of drink afterwards so acceptable 
to him. In proportion as these vicious habits, which he 
considered so manly, grew upon him, he felt more and 
more impatient at the wholesome restraints which any 
steady business enforced upon him, and the consequence 
was, that his irregularities and violent temper, drove him 
from one situation to another, until at last, some months 
before he wen| to Giles Godwin, he could find no employ- 
ment at all, unless, indeed, that of a supernumerary in a 
minor theatre, at a shilling per night, could be such. In 
the meantime, he was supported by occasional scanty re- 
mittances of money from his mother. Erom hH father he 
got nothing, nor would he have accepted it had any come ; 
for, reduced as he was, he was yet too proud to accept 
any aid from one of whom he never spoke, except in terms 
of the most intense hatred. Finally, through the inter- 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 2t 

position of some of the youngster^s relations, and his own 
benevolent feelings, the printer was induced to take 
Thomas into his office, in the belief that the example of 
Edwin Fairbanks and Nathan Mudge, added to his own 
precepts, and the society of his virtuous and happy family, 
would effect the desired change in his habits and charac- 
ter. But the good old man little suspected either the ex- 
^ tent of his new apprentice’s bad habits, or how confirmed 
they had become ; and if he had been told the whole truth 
he could not have believed it of one so young. And this 
is to be the companion of the widow’s simple and unsus- 
pecting son — ^^the sharer of his toil, and the partner of his 
bed — ^like an evil genius, ever at his elbow I 

Alas 1 poor, yielding, easy Nat I Better had it been 
for thee, hadst thou never been born i * * * 

Tom Braxton had been thumping his heels, and walk- 
ing to and fro, on the corner before mentioned, occasion- 
ally varying his amusement by peering into the bonnets 
of the women that passed, for about half an hour, when 
suddenly recognizing a female form in the distance, he 
gave a shrill whistle between his fingers, and walked 
rapidly away in pursuit. 


Faithful to his promise, Nathan Mudge stopped at the 
oyster-room^ on his way to his master’s, and found Tom 
Braxton smoking a cigar. ‘ Will you smile, Smudge ?’ 
said' the smoker. Nat answered, with a broad grin, that 
he didn’t know what he meant. 

^ How green I’ said the precious one, throwing his 
cigar into the stove. ^ I meant will you sweat P 


28 


new ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


Again Nathan looked puzzled. 

‘ Pshaw I Will you moisten your clay ? Drat it V 
continued Tom with an oath, perceiving that he was not 
understood yet, ‘ I mean, will you drink ? Of course you 
will !’ he added, as the waiter handed him a mug of foam- 
ing flip. ‘ T17 a swallow of that, and you will know here- 
after what it is to smile V 

Nathan would have declined. ' Pshaw I ^ .said Tom, 

‘ what a baby ! It’s only beer I’ 

The beer which Nat had imbibed during^ the day, far 
from quenching his thirst, had made him quite dry, and 
he thought that something smelling so good as the flip, 
must make him feel better ; so he drank a little from the 
mug, and handed it back to his companion. 

‘ How’s that in yer eye ? ’ said Tom. 

‘ Bunkum !’ replied Nat. 

‘ You didn’t drink enough to drown a fly in,’ said Tom, 
handing back the mug, when he had imbibed a large por- 
tion of the contents himself ; ‘ Smile again. Smudge I’ 

Nathan drank again, after which Tom slapped him on 
the back, and told him that he was ‘ a dev’lish good feller.’ 

Nathan was very much elated at the idea of standing 
BO high in the good opinion of one whose acquaintance 
with the world was evidently extensive. There was some- 
thing, too, in his new friend’s manner that to young 
Mudge was very taking. Boys like to ape men, and he 
who does it best is imitated and followed. In spite of 
Edwin Fairbanks’s warning, Nat already began to 
admire Tom Braxton. 

‘ Come, Smudge,’ said Nathan’s companion to him, 
when they had left the oyster shop, ‘ we shall have 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


29 


time to drop in a moment on tlie Forrestians, fee goin 
home.^ 

‘ Wlio% lie ?’ inquired Nat. 

‘ Ha I ha I how green said Braxton. * Come along, 
and ril show you.” 

^ But we shall be late home/ said the other. 

‘Not a bit of it. It’s right on our way, and we won’t 
stay more than five minutes. So come along, my darling,’ 
said Tom, and putting his arm through Nathan’s, .he 
pulled him with jocular violence, into a run down Hanover 
street. 

‘ This is it,’ said Braxton, as he guided his companion 
up several flights of dilapidated stairs, at the top of 
which, by the smoky light of a very spare, rancid tallow 
candle, sat a heavy-faced man to receive tickets. ‘ Pass him 
in,’ said Tom, with a confidential air, to the door-keeper. 

‘ The word 1’ said the heavy-faced man. 

. *S7nelts!^ 

‘ ’Nough said I Pass in 1’ 

As the two apprentices entered the door through wliich 
the door-keeper ‘passed’ them, their olfactories were 
saluted with a great stench of paint, lamp-smoke, and 
bad breaths. ‘ It is a Thespian theatre 1 whispered Tom 
to his companion, as he elbowed his way through a crowd 
of boys, around the door. ‘ I’m a member I’ 

‘ Down in frojit I’ ‘ Down in front I’ ‘ Heads off I’ 
shouted a number of waspish, treble voices, as the per- 
sons of the new-comers intervened between them and the 
stage. Half bewildered, Nathan looked behind, and by 
the glare of three smoking lights, saw about a dozen tiers 
of heads, male and female, rising one above another, until 


30 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

the further one nearly reached the ceiling of the low, nar* 
row room, in which they were crowded. The feet of 
most of the tawdry-dressed young ladies, rested upon a 
board extended on its edge across the room — a fact eluci- 
dating to Nathan’s mind why his companion called the 
eight consumptive candles, which flared directly behind it, 
foot-lights. Taking a position so as not to incommode the 
audience, which, until he did so, continued to shout ‘ down 
in front I’ with increasing irascibility, our young friend 
turned his regards to the other side of the board, which 
was the sole division between the spectators and the per- 
formance. It was a humble, a very humble imitation of 
the stage of a ‘ regular’ theatre. On either side, was a 
stage door, about five feet high, and eighteen inches wide, 
composed principally of laths, redding, and MeiTimac 
sheeting. The articles last named, indeed, seemed to be 
the three great components of the establishment. Laths 
sufficed equally well for scene frames, fences, and danger- 
ous weapons — ^redding served as well for painting cheeks 
and castle, as for ‘ human gore,’ — and Merrimac cotton 
was literally a synonyme for drop-curtains, scenery, ban- 
ners, togas, and coats of mail. 

The present scene appeared, to Nathan’s unsophisticated 
eye, to be a number of pieces of cotton cloth, covered 
with waves of green paint, and extending from the floor 
to the ceiling, on either side, at equal intervals, out of 
which several flaming candles and burnt-cork counte- 
nances, and a female with a blanket^shawl, and a book in 
her hand, might be seen peeping. In the back-ground 
was a house about four feet high, with black windows and 
an unusual number of chimneys. This scene, Tom whis- 


TJiJ!] THREE APPRENTICES. 


31 


pered to his friend, represented a wood and a castle. In 
front of the ‘ castle,^ in a faded red uniform coat, between 
which and his pantaloons there was a considerable hiatus, 
— and on his little head a bell-crown leather cap, out of 
which rose a perpendicular red and white plume, there 
was marching, a young man, so slim in person that, like 
his spear, he seemed to be made of lath. When this 
individual had silently traversed his confined promenade 
until the audience began to shout, rather invidiously, ‘ Gro 
it, legs I’ a voice behind the scenes exclaimed impatiently, 
* stage waits I’ and a moment after another young gentle- 
man came on, evidently in a hurry. He wore a Merri- 
mac shirt, trimmed with yellow ribbon, beneath a fad^ 
camlet cloak, and upon his legs and face several cents^ 
worth of the great staple color of the establishment. 

‘ This play is Fizarro^ whispered Tom to his com 
panion. ‘ That feller in the cloak is Holla ; toother is 
the oid Castilian I’ 

Who is the woman with the turban on, and the book 
in her hand V inquired Nathan. 

^ Oh, she isn’t on P replied Tom. ^ She is the prompter, 
Sam Sniffle. He plays Elvira to-night. 

We will not attempt to describe the acting ! Language 
would fail to do it justice, and we can only say that it 
was equal to the splendid appointments. Nathan Mudge, 
who knew nothing before of theatrical entertainments, 
except by description, was so well pleased with the per- 
formance, that it was not until Rolla (who was neither 
more nor less ^ than Bob Chisel) had died in his own 
gore — or, rather redding — and the cotton curtain had 
fallen upon his convulsive struggles, (as it would have 


32 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

done upon himself, if he had not dodged), that he was* 
reminded how late it was. 

Before he would accompany him home, Tom Braxton 
must needs strut to the stage door and squeeze through, 
thereby exciting the envy of the spectators at his superior 
privileges. After a lapse of two or three minutes, which 
seemed an age to the impatient Nathan, who feared the 
displeasure of his master at the lateness of his return, 
he was joined by Braxton, and together they proceeded 
rapidly home. On their way they ascertained that it was 
nearly half-past ten. 

Nathan expressed fears at which his companion laughed. 
When they reached the house, they saw through the 
parlor window Edwin Fairbanks reading, and Giles God- 
win sitting by the fire. 

‘ He is sittin’ up for us said Nat in a whisper, as they 
peered into the window. 

* We’ll slip into the door, and up stairs, if we can, 
without his hearing us I’ said Tom, treading lightly over 
the walk. 

^ I wouldn’t 1’ said Nat, ‘ it looks sneaky.^ 

‘ Pshaw I’ exclaimed Tom, peevishly, ‘ come along t 
It’s a good joke. What a fraid-cat I’ 

As usual, Nathan yielded, and the two boys crept 
cautiously through the door, and up stairs. In two 
minutes more they were undressed and in bed. Hardly 
was this the case, when they heard the voice of their 
master issuing from the entry. 

‘ Is it possible that those boys have not come ? Are 
you sure, Edwin, that they are not in led V 

‘ They may be, sir,’ said Edwin, who wished that it 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


33 


Itiight be the case, -but feared lest he should be sent 
to see. 

‘ Kathan said old Giles, with his hand on the baluster, 
and his face turned in the boys* room. There, was no 
answer. He called again, and louder, ‘ ^^’athan I* 

* Sir r answered Tom, in a sleepy tone. 

‘ Why they are in, Edwin I* exclaimed the old man in 
surprise scarcely less than that of his senior apprentice. 

‘ Are you both in V inquired Giles. ‘ Are you in, Nat V 
said Tom, yawning. ‘Yes, sir,* he continued, ‘we have 
been asleep tliis two hours I* 

‘ I am glad of it 1* said the old man to himself, as ho 
raked up the fire very carefully, and lighted a candle. 
‘Come, Edwin, let’s go to bed. We’ll make something 
of that lad, yet.* 


CHAPTER lY. 

The boys in bed — A peep into the history and character of Edwin — 
Nasal Gymnastics — The influence of right and of wrong upon 
Nathan — Eight for once prevails. 

When Edwin Fairbanks entered the apprentices* cham- 
ber, a part of which he occupied himself, the boys were 
apparently asleep. Tom Braxton, especially, was snoring 
very hard. Nathan’s breathing grew louder and louder. 
Edwin put down his candle, and opening a small writing- 
desk, proceeded to finish the composition of an address 
which it had devolved upon him to deliver before the 
Apprentices* Library Association, of which excellent insti- 
tution he had recently been elected president. Edwin, at 
2 * 


34 new ENGLAND BOYS, OR v 

this time, was in his twenty-first year. He was of 
middling height; muscular and well-proportioned. His 
dress, like his manner, had none of the excess of fashion 
about it, but was at once grave and genteel. His chin 
was round and fuU ; his mouth flexible, yet firm ; his 
brows heavy, but not frowning ; his nose aqmline ; his 
forehead broad, and, like the rest of his face, strongly 
marked. His eyes were of a deep gray color, large and 
thoughtful. His father, a poor and illiterate wood-sawyer, 
rendered careless of his family by intemperance, had 
allowed him no opportunities for learning, and until he 
was rescued from this neglect by the benevolent interven- 
tion of Giles Godwin, who induced his parents to inden- 
ture their son to him, Edwin Fairbanks had not received 
even the simplest rudiments of an education. From this 
situation of utter ignorance, at the age of fifteen, the poor 
boy was gradually raised by the printer’s personal atten- 
tion, care, and encouragement, to the position, at twenty, 
of as weU-read and educated a young man as the most of 
those at that age whom he was likely to encounter. Giles 
Godwin, though he had always preferred, and in his old 
age persisted in adhering to his business as a printer, 
had served honorably in the councils of his country, and 
added to her prosperity by several important mechanical 
inventions, as well as to her literary reputation by his 
learned historical researches. He was amply competent, 
then, to the task of educating Edwin, who, he thought, 
with a delicacy of feeling characteristic of him , must natu- 
rally feel mortified should he begin at his age to learn at 
a public school. W e have called this duty, which the old 
mechanic so nobly took upon himself, a task; he did not con- 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 35 

sider it so. His pupil^s perception was quick, his memory 
retentive, and his desire to acquire information eager and 
untiring. Giles^ system was not the most modern, but it 
was none the less thorough on that account. Besides, it 
had peculiar charms for both master and pupil. In carry- 
ing the mind of his apprentice over the same course of 
studies which his own had travelled in his earlier days, 
the youth of the old printer was in a manner renewed to 
him, and it brought to his lips a thousand reminiscences 
of the men and scenes among which his boyhood was 
spent, that were to Edwin both amusing and instruc- 
tive. In a year or two, so pleasant had the office of 
tutor become to the old man, that the almost parental 
pride with which he saw his forward pupil taking the 
direction of his mind more under his own control, and, 
with an independence and energy worthy of him, seek- 
ing to educate himself, was not unmingled with pain. It 
is true, that he had a new subject for his benevolent in- 
structions, in Nathan Mudge, whom he had just taken to 
apprenticeship, but Nathan was not Edwin 1 Nathan 
had been educated, until he was fourteen, in the new- 
fangled method, and could ‘ take' to the old man's types 
vastly better than to his theories. ‘ He is a good lad, is 
Nathan,' Giles would sometimes say, with a sigh, ‘ and I 
do believe has a heart as big as the town clock ; but then 
he is as full of fun as a dog is of fleas, and over a book 
falls directly asleep, poor boy I' 

No one but Edwin could be his favorite, and in his 
heart the old man hoped that some day he should see him 
united to his only child Catharine. 

But to recur to Edwin, in his chamber. He had ao- 


36 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

quired such a power of concentrating his mind on any- 
thing in which he was engaged, that some minutes had 
elapsed after he sat down to write, before his attention 
was at all distracted by the snoring of his fellow appren- 
tices. But presently the nasal duet became so varied in 
its tones, and capricious in scale,— now sounding more like 
the snorting of a sea-horse than anything human, — now 
sinking to a sound between a cackle and a groan — that 
Edwin at last arose with the light in his hand to see how 
the performers could possibly look in executing such ex- 
traordinary music. He had no sooner made this move, 
than the duet was broken short off, and the two boys who 
were in bed gave vent to a spontaneous and irrepressible 
peal of laughter. Then Tom amused himself by hurling 
his pillow at Edwin, and denominating him ‘ Old Smash- 
pipes.^ Whereupon, his merry bed-fellow laughed as if 
he would go into convulsions. The senior apprentice 
gravely replaced the pillow upon the bed, and resumed his 
writing in silence. Nathan felt that he was displeased, 
and became quiet. Not so young Braxton. 

‘ I s’pose you’d like to know how long we’ve been abed, 
wouldn’t you, old Smashpipes V said he sneeringly. 

Edwin made no reply, but continued writing. Tom re- 
peated his inquiry a little more civilly, and with the omis- 
sion of the nickname which he had before applied, for the 
manly bearing of the other had awed him a little. 

‘ Don’t 1’ said Nat, in an under and deprecating tone, 
to Tom. 

‘ It is immaterial to me,’ said Fairbanks, mildly and 
without looking from his paper, ‘ whether you have been 
abed five minutes Or five hours, farther than this, that I 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 3' 

hope for your own sakes, you have not deceived our em 
ployer. The regulations which he prescribes to us aiv, 
more for our good than his own.’ 

^ That won’t cook,’ said Tom. Nat forgot the twinge 
Edward’s words had given him, in laughing at the oddity 
of his chum’s phrase. Nathan’s greatest fault, next to 
his pliant disposition, was an excessive mirthfulness, and 
too keen a sense of the ridiculous. The most sublime and 
serious subjects would excite in his mind the most ludi- 
crous associations, and a droll, grotesque kind of speech, 
or any jest, was often sufficient to dissipate the gravest 
impressions. Braxton — or as now he had learned to call 
him, Brax — was just the person to wield the most delete- 
rious influences over such a mind. It could never have 
been led astray by a common-place plodder in vice. Not 
that Tom had any real genial humor about him, but he 
was a good miniic, and a perfect Bob Logic in the voca- 
bulary of flash, and by uniting the two accomplishments, 
he said and did some things which Nat thought must be 
worthy even of a Matthews or a Finn. 

‘ Talkin, of cookin,’ said Tom, jumping out of bed, ‘ I’m 
goin’ down to cram a little. I’m as hungry as a church 
mouse. Let’s see if we can’t start up a cold chicken in 
the larder. Smudge I’ 

Nat laughed at the idea, but said that he had rather 
not go. ‘ Oh, come along I’ exclaimed Braxton, and tried 
to pull him out of bed. Nat protested — Edwin remon- 
strated — Tom persisted. ^Whatl you’ll teU, I spose, 
won’t yer?’ said Braxton, with a sneer. 

^ I didn’t say that,’ replied the senior apprentice, coolly. 
But I hope you won’t go. It isn’t right 1’ 


38 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

‘That’s imr look-out. Let every man skin his own 
skunks, old Smashpipesl Come along, Smudge!’ 

Nathan wavered. Somehow or other that Jlip had given 
him a gnawings hungry feeling. 

‘ It would be very wrong even in you, Thomas, who 
know so little of Mr. Godwin, to offend as you propose to 
do,’ said Edwin; ‘ and far worse in Nathan, who has had 
so much experience of his goodness to usl’ 

Nathan fell back on his pOlow, and declared he wouldn’t . 
go; whereat Tom informed him that he was a ‘ spooney,’ 
and that all the preachers ever ‘ raised ’ shouldn’t stop 
him from doing what he liked. The next thing was to 
procure a light. The only one in the room was Edwin’s, 
and that of course he couldn’t have. In this ddemma. 
Tom bethought him of some lucifer matches which he had 
in his pocket, and taking these in his hand, accoutred as he 
was, he stole down stairs. His discoveries there, — or one 
of them at least — will be developed in another chapter. 

‘ Nathan,’ said Edwin, in a voice of mild reproof, when 
the new apprentice had left the room, ‘ I ought as your 
friend to counsel you against the example of our new room- 
mate. ’ And he went on, as he divested himself of his 
clothing, and prepared to lie down, to give his young com- 
panion some good advice. He was continuing in, this 
strain, when he perceived that Nathan was fast asleep. 
Naf was one of those persons who have the faculty of 
being wide awake at any moment, and asleep the next. 
Turning with a sigh into his bed, Edwin lay awake, until, 
after the lapse of half an hour, he heard Tom Hraxton 
crawl in beneath the coverlid with his chum, and then 
addressed hinttelf to sleep. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


89 


CHAPTER y. 

Introduces the several members of Giles Godwin’s family, including 
his pretty daughter — A word about poor men seeking rich wives 
— Poverty, for once, a recommendation — The sweethearts — An 
errand of charity. 

The family of Giles Godwin, besides himself and his 
apprentices, consisted of his mother — a very fat, deaf, and 
antiquated dame, then in her ninetieth year — ^his two 
maiden twin sisters, older than^mself, and for the matter 
of that, difficult to distin^sh either in age or appearance 
from their robust progenitress — and his black-eyed, be- 
witching little daughter, Kate, whom God had given him 
in exchange for his wife, who died in chUd-bed. They had 
two domestics, Sally Scammons, — a faithful old creature' 
who had served them many a long year— or perhaps I 
should say short year, for they made it a very happy time 
for her — and a niece of hers from down east, who rejoiced 
in a pert, pretty face, and the name of Eunice. 

Between her grandmother and her maiden aunts, Kate 
Godwin came nigh to be spoiled. Grandmothers and 
maiden aunts have great faculty at effecting such results. 
She had not one of those tall forms, and wasplike waists, 
denominated ‘ genteel,^ but her figure was good, her foot 
and hand small, her bust and arms well rounded, her com- 
plexion fair even to paleness, her features symmetrical, and 
her mouth I — Nathan Mudge used to say that ‘ there 


40 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OB 

never was another half so beautiful. Poet-folks and story 
men might say there was, but there wasn’t. If there 
was, why didn’t painters paint them I He never saw any 
month, even in a picture, that would begin with Kate 
Godwin’s I And as for her long, shining black hair, which 
tried to hide her pretty dimpled shoulders, but couldn’t, 
—for they would peep out, anyhow, the merry rogues I — 
he rather guessed that if the angels were to have anything 
in that line, they would come to Katy Godwin for a pat- 
tern I’ 

The khidly sentiments entertained towards her by 
Kathan, were returned rather capriciously by Catherine, 
who was inclined to coquet. She esteemed Edwin, but 
would not love him, and ^hen jchided by her aunts for her 
‘ offishness’ (as they terui^*ft^ towards him, she would 
reply proudly, that ‘ he was hut an apprentice. ! She 
thought that the only child of a wealthy father should look 
higher.’ Well, Nathan Mudge was ‘ only an apprentice.’ 
Besides, he had neither friends nor accomplishments to 
back his suit. The latter argument was precisely the one 
which most recommended him to the printer’s pet. Had 
he possessed the most remarkable talents, for one in his 
situation, they would have weighed nothing with the ca- 
pricious beauty. Had he, even, in addition to his ex- 
haustless good humor^ and simplicity of heart and head, 
which so pleased her, been rich, it is ten chances to one 
whether she would ever have conceived for hiTn anything 
stronger than regard. But his poverty, frankness, sim- 
plicity and fun, and even the want of thought and polish, 
and the improvi(^ce with which her aunts— not without 
reason— accused him, were what most endeared him to her. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 41 

and she became so habituated to * take poor Nat^s part/ 
when he was contrasted with Edwin, rather unfavorably 
by her kinswomen in their gossip at home, that she really 
began to esteem his very faults as virtues. Still, she had 
no idea of loving .\imi ^ — oh, no I Perhaps the thought 
never entered her head ; certainly it never did his. They 
were both too young, of course ! 

Kate Godwin was not without the finer traits of intel- 
lect, and a fair share of good sense; but she had a large in- 
fusion of poetry and romance, with which the graver and 
more practical character of Edwin^s mind seemed, to her, 
uncongenial and repulsive. She would not admit that the 
practical could sometimes be poetical. The truth was, 
that the whole life of Edwin was an epic ; then unfinished, 
but destined to have an admirable conclusion. His rescue, 
in the dark morning of his days, from ignorance and neg- 
lect — the eager expansion of his mind’s eye for the light of 
learning to which Giles Godwin directed him — the subse- 
quent reachings of his soul, up to the steep and dizzy 
height where stood the temple of knowledge, with no guide 
to his steps but his own youthful, yet vigorous, reason — 
all were essentially poetical. He was living poetry every 
day of his life I And there was another individual doing 
the same thing, though in another way, in whom he felt 
far more interest than he could ever entertain for the ro- 
mantic Catherine. This person was the humble sempstress, 
Susan Mudge. Through her unremitting toil, she had foi;^ 
years — she was now in her eighteenth — materially con- 
tributed to the support of her mother, and now that the 
latter was bed-ridden, the responsibility devolved upon the 
daughter of supporting both. Kathan’s earnings had 


^2 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

barely sufficed to pay for his clothes. Since his recent 
advancement in the office of the printer, his wages had 
been raised; but this was no advantage, for since the ad- 
vent of Tom Braxton, Kat's pocket expenditures had in- 
creased unaccountably, Giles Godwin and his sisters 
were desirous of aiding the industrious girl, but beyond an 
occasional present of some little nicety or comfort for her 
mother Susan would accept nothing. ‘As long,^ she 
would sometimes say, with a cheerful smile, to those who 
importuned her to avail herself of their assistance, ‘ as 
long as I have health and strength, pray let me maintain 
my humble independence I It is time enough to renounce 
that when I shall have become helpless T With all this self- 
reliance, Susan was not a prude. Hers was the wisdom of 
artlessness and innocence. As we have said in the open- 
ing chapter, she was, despite her incessant toil, a rosy, 
laughing, buoyant girl. Taller than Kate Godwin, she 
still had all her roundness of limb, with, if possible, more 
general symmetry of person. She had the sparkling blue 
eye of her brother, but fringed with longer and more 
silken lashes, and the brows, unlike his, were finely arched. 

But the personal and mental charms of Susan Mudge 
were not the only reason why Edwin Fairbanks preferred 
her to Catherine Godwin. He felt that she was more 
nearly his equal. He had no idea of purchasing facilities 
for business, or obtaining the means for the more effectual 
r pursuit of his much-loved studies, by marrying a woman 
who would have it in her power to say, as many a one 
can 6f her husband, that she bought him 1 True, he knew 
that, in mercantile life, a man’s superior mental powers, 
or knowledge of, and talents for, business, oftentimes 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 43 

fairly counterbalance his partner’s capital, and he had 
heard the application of this truth made to matrimonial 
felations, but, in the latter connection, especially, it was 
still a question of certain bed-curtain disputations, the 
chance of which- he determined never to incur. But, 
though — regardless of the many encouraging hints given 
him by the old grandmother and her venerable daughters, 
Edwin rather avoided Kate, than otherwise, he sincerely 
respected, and admired her for her good qualities, and 
frequently sought her ever-ready cooperation in his efforts 
to ameliorate the suffering of the poor. He was a lead- 
ing member of a benevolent society of young men in the 
city, which, then in its infancy, was doing a great deal of 
good, and has since grown to a degree of usefulness seldom 
surpassed by any similar institution. In the performance 
of his duty of seeking out the suffering poor in the ward 
in which he resided, he frequently met with instances of 
distress which called more particularly for the sympathy 
of the ladies. When this was the case, it was only neces- 
sary for him to mention it to the aunts and their niece, to 
obtain their most cordial assistance. Kate was no great 
hand, certainly, at visiting the poor, — one always encoun- 
ters so many disagreeable things in their abodes — ^but 
when her feelings were once enlisted in a case, she went to 
its relief with all her heart. But, on the whole, she pre- 
ferred the more fashionable means of benevolence, charity 
fairs and sewing circles — not the less, perhaps, because in 
those places, she was ‘ the bright, particular star.’ 

She was one evening, shortly after the incidents related 
In the last chapter, complaining of the tediousness of 
time, and the dullness of her own feelings : the old ladies 


44 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

were knitting near the fireplace, which was ornamented 
with picture tiles, like all the decorations in the room of 
a very antique description ; while at the centre table — 
the only modern piece of furniture in the apartment — 
Catherine and Edwin were reading. 

‘ Oh, dear I’ said the beautiful Kate, throwing herself 
back impatiently in the chair, and her book upon the table, 
*how long the evenings are I You are not half so good 
company as poor Nat is, Mr. Bookworm I I feel unac- 
countably stupid ! How dull you all are 1 I’m dying of 
ennui! Do, Edwin, look off that great square book 
once, and prescribe something to dissipate the monotony 
of my existence I’ 

^ If youj who have so many comforts around you, are 
discontented with your lot, Kate,’ said Edwin with a 
smile, as he looked up from the volume which he was 
reading, ‘what think you must they be who have more 
sources of misery than you have of happiness V 

‘ I have found a '^reojcher^ where I asked for a ;physido/n P ^ 
said Kate, in a pet. 

‘ Well, I will leave preaching, then, and prescribe,’ said 
Edwin. ‘ I was called upon, this morning, to visit a poor 
Irish family, one of the children of which having fallen 
into the fire, while alone, had been so badly burnt, that it 
was not expected to live ^ 

The ladies here interrupted him with a number of sym- 
pathising exclamations and inquiries. Edwin informed 
them, that after he visited the family, in the morning, the 
little sufferer survived but a few hours. In its efforts to 
blow out the fire which had caught in its cotton frock, the 
poor child had inhaled the flame, and injured its lungs 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


45 


beyond hope of recovery. In this piteous state, after it 
had been put abed by the doctor, it rose upright when its 
father entered the room for the first time after the acci- 
dent, and begged him not to beat his mother, for it was 
not her fault. ‘ Now, Catherine,^ continued Edwin, when 
the ladies had exhausted their vocabulary of pity, ‘ I shall 
prescribe what will make you better contented with your- 
self and your lot. To-morrow let us go together to the 
miserable abode of these poor people, and see if we may 
not be of some assistance to them in the burial of their 
child.^ 

‘ To-morrow V said Kate, her deep, black eyes lighting 
up with animation, as she rose from her seat, and advanced 
to the door, ‘ to-morrow ? why not to-night ? Come, let 
us go now I The moon has risen, and you say the house 
is not further off than Cross-street. I will get my bon- 
net and cloak directly.^ 

‘ Don’t be in such haste, my child !’ said one of the 
aunts. ‘ Won’t it be rather a disagreeable place for ladies, 
at night, Edwin ?’ 

‘ I presume it will not be the most agreeable in the 
world,’ said the senior apprentice, ‘ and I should suppose 
that Miss Catherine would prefer to go to-morrow.’ 

‘ No, no, no, no !’ exclaimed Kate, impatiently, ‘ I will 
go now, or not at all. It isn’t often that I get into the 
sister-of-charity mood, and pray don’t balk me when I do !’ 

‘ Well, child,’ said the aunt, * as the interest you mani- 
fest is very creditable to you, I don’t know that we ought 
to object. But, perhaps, Mr. Edwin would prefer to go 
at another time ?’ 

^ On the contrary,’ said the young man, closing his book, 


46 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


and rising, ‘ Catherine’s alacrity in this matter gives me 
much pleasure, and I shall be happy to accompany her at 
any moment — ^if she continues in the same mind 1’ Kate 
responded in a nmute, by making her appearance, dressed 
for a walk. 

* Stay a moment 1’ said one of the aunts ; * what a hurry 
you are in, my love ! My sister and I have been talking 
about calling on Mrs. Mudge, for a long time, and if you 
young folks will go so far out of your way to escort us 
there, we will visit her this evening.’ 

‘ Well, we’ll go with you 1’ said Kate, ‘ But don’t be for 
ever getting ready, will you ? I’ll get you your things I’ 
and she ran out of the room after their bonnets and cloaks. 
In two or three minutes, the aunts were ready, and the 
little party left the house — Kate and Edwin arm-in-arm, 
thereby eliciting from the aged sisters, who followed them, 
the exclamation of, ‘ What a pretty couple they would 
make, to be sure I’ 


CHAPTER YI. 

The Visit to the Poor Irish Family — The Wake — The Frenzy of a 
Bereaved Mother — Wrong and Affliction make even the Illiterate 
Eloquent— The Penurious Apothecary — The Street Rowdies — The 
Abode of Susan, the Sempstress — The Walk Home. 

When the Misses Godwin, and the young couple, 
arrived at the little room in Temple street, occupied by 
Mrs. Mudge, the invalid and her daughter received them 
with grateful pleasure. Kathan had not yet arrived, 
which was some disappointment to Kate Godwin, who 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 41 

declared that he was a much better beau than Edwin, 
because infinitely more sociable. Then she bethought her 
that it would much enhance the pleasure of their walk to 
Cross street, if Susan Mudge would accompany them, and 
nothing would do but ‘^he must go. As every one present 
appeared to coincide with this suggestion, only a few 
minutes had elapsed when Edwin left the house accompa- 
nied by the young ladies. Susan thanked the friendly 
night for concealing the blush which she felt rising to her 
cheek, and her lover was no less pleased that the same veil 
covered a certain slight embarrassment, which, he thought, 
must otherwise have been evident in his manner. As the 
trio of friends were emerging from Howard street, they 
saw a knot of young men, or boys, standing on the corner, 
and humming a popular negro melody. 

* There is Nat said Kate, in some surprise. 

^ Nathan I’ exclaimed his sister, in unfeigned astonish- 
ment. Hearing his name called, and recognizing the party, 
Nathan joined them with alacrity. ‘ Why, Nathan,^ said 
Susan, reproachfully, ‘ I wouldn’t have believed it of you I 
If there is anything utterly detestable, it is the trick which 
some men and boys have, of lounging at the street corners I’ 

‘ Well,’ said Nathan, ‘ I was only stopping a moment, Sis.’ 

* You shan’t scold him Susy, for I declare he has come 
in good time I Come Nat, see what a gallant beau you 
will make me I’ exclaimed Kate, and, with a laugh, she 
deserted Edwin’s arm for that of his junior. 

‘ Where are you goin’ ?’ inquired Nat, highly delighted. 

‘ Oh,’ said Kate, gently urging him along, * a gallant 
cavalier never stays to ask whither his mistress is conduct- 
ing him I It is enough for him that she leads the way I’ 


48 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


‘ I see, Kate,’ said Nat, gaily, as lie gave himself up 
wholly to the guidance of his fair companion, ‘ that you 
don’t believe in CrockeWs maxim, ‘ Be always sure you’re 
right, then go ahead I’ ’ 

‘ It is a very prudent adage, I suppose,’ said Kate, 
* but I hate prudence, it is so cold-blooded !’ 

‘ It kind o’ freezes over every buncome feelin’ with a coat 
of ice thick enough to skate on !’ cried Nathan. ‘ Oh, I 
hate prudence, too ; and I hate etiquette.’ 

‘ What a fellow you are for sim?|es, Nat I’ said Kate, 
drawing her companion closer to her side, and smiling 
proudly in his face. 

‘ What are them ?’ inquired Nat, thinking that perhaps 
she meant doughnuts, of which he was very fond. Kate 
laughed, and they continued in this vein, until Edwin 
stopped in front of a large old wooden house in Cross 
street, and told them that it was the abode of the Irish 
family in which they were in quest. 

‘ Do they occupy the whole bf it ?’ inquired Kate. 

‘ Oh no I’ replied Edwin, ‘ more than twenty poor fa- 
milies live in it I Do you hear tbe wailing ? I suspect they 
are holding, a wake. Eollow me carefully, and I will con- 
duct you t6 the room occupied by the bereaved parents.’ 

Gr roping their way up several flights of narrow and worn- 
out stairs, the apprentices and their female companions 
reached an entry sufficiently illuminated, by several cheap 
candles, for them to see that it was crowded with men, who, 
with their heads uncovered, were observing a profound 
silence. Among these, was the father of the dead child. 
Upon seeing Edwin Fairbanks, he grasped his hand, and 
ejaculated in a subdued tone, ‘ God bless yer honor I we 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 49 

would be giving the poor wee thing a bit of a wake I’ He 
beckoned to him and his friends to follow him into the 
room. The crowd around the door gave way instinctively, 
and our little party walked in. The scene within would 
have been ludicrous, had it not been pervaded with a 
deep feeling of affliction and woe. With the money which 
had been given her, the woman had bought of a milliner 
in Washington street, one of those cheap lace caps, deco- 
rated with flaunting ribbons, which are sometimes put at 
the windows for show. This was large enough for herself, 
but she had planed it upon the little head of the corpse, 
which was placed upon a chest, over which the poor crea- 
ture had raised a sort of canopy, made out of a white 
cottorr sheet and several hoops. Both at the head and 
feet of the deceased, two candles, supported in bottles, 
were burning ; and beneath the canopy over the head, 
there was a humble wooden cross. At the foot of the 
corpse, where she could see its face, wa« a rather large and 
muscular Irish woman, with her hair dishevelled, and her 
body rocking to and fro, giving utterance to a continued 
stream of touching lamentations. This was *the mother. — ■ 
Seated in the room were quite a number of females, old 
and young, rocking their bodies backwards and forwards, 
and mo anin g in concert with the bereaved woman in their 
midst. The worst feature of the scene, was a decanter of 
rum, and glasses, on the mantel-piece. 

* Ah !’ said the mother, talking very volubly when she 
saw Edwin Fairbanks, ^ here is the good gentleman that 
guv me the money when that blaguard pottemry wouldn’t 
trust me for a beggarly ninepence worth iv stuff to cool 
the fire in the childer’s throat, when it was grilling like 


3 


60 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

coals 1 May Satan hrUe the catamaroon, for his hard 
heart I’ And here, she raised her hands to heaven, and 
with every muscle in her face quivering with the bitter- 
ness of her feelings, and her eyes flashing Are, she impre- 
cated a torrent of the most horrible curses upon the head 
of the pitiful apothecary, who, though he knew that her 
child was suffering the most excruciating torment for the 
want of the cooling medicine, which the doctor had pre- 
Bcribed,^would not give it to her without first receiving 
twelve and a half cents — not one of which the poor woman 
had got I The mother became, for the moment, a perfect 
demon, and the remembrance of her child’s agony, and the 
heartless indifference of the shopkeeper, inspired her with 
a power of invective, almost bewildering the new-comers 
with its fluency and fury. The eyes of the tigress robbed 
of her young, were dull and leaden compared to this 
'woman’s. Their glances gleamed and flashed like light- 
ning, as she shrieked out her terrible maledictions. In two 
or three minutes, this hurricane of hate suddenly subsided, 
and grovelling at Edwin’s feet, the woman gave vent to 
a copious flood of tears, and called upon God again and 
again to bless the sweet gentleman who had brought her 
medicine for her child, and held the poor babe in his own 
arms 1 Then she prayed that God might give him health, 
substance, happiness, advancement, and that kind and 
beautiful lady by his side — this was Susan — for a wife, 
if she were not his already. To this all the mourners 
said Amen, and some, ‘ Yes, heaven would do it I’ ‘ And 
may you two,’ said the mother, either not observing, or 
regardless of Susan’s blushes, ' have a child as good and 
beautiful as my sweet darlint baby was, that once would 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 51 

be after mindin’ my leastest word, but now will not hear 
me, though I have besought it with prayers and groans 
and shrieks, until the heart in my bosom has gone nigh to 
break 1’ Again she broke out anew in sore lamentations 
for her child, and the women repeated her exclamations 
in a monotonous manner, and rocked to and fro, as before. 
Comforting her, with the assistance of Susan, as well as 
he could, Edwin gave the unhappy mother an order on a 
carpenter for a cofi&n, and another on a wharfinger for 
some wood. ‘ Och I’ said she, in a piteous tone, ‘ wasn’t 
it myself that was complaining iv the little fire that I had, 
that very day, as I stood shivering before it just before I 
left my poor childer alone, to go over to the grocery across 
the way, and all along there was enough, and more than 
enough, to burn up my little darlint ! Ochoon ! Ochoon I’ 

Amid the manifold blessings of all the mourners, men 
and women, Edwin Fairbanks and his companions left the 
room and the house. 

A group of full-grown boys were on the other side of 
the street, looking up at the windows : ‘ They are holding 
a wake, sure !’ said the largest one of the number, mim- 
icking the Irish accent. ‘ I’ll be after sending them my 
card I’ And raising his arm, he threw a stone at the win- 
dow of the room where the corpse was. It fell short of 
the mark, and he was in the act of throwing another, 
when Edwin sprang and seized the rascal, who, struggling 
hard to get away, shouted in a voice which Fairbanks 
thought he recognized, ‘ To the rescue, Rawbones !’ In 
an instant, the senior apprentice was fallen upon by several 
of the larger boys, with the exclamation, ‘ He’s an Irish- 
man ! Kill the Paddy 1’ But, even before JSiathan could 


52 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

go to his assistance, Edwin Fairbanks had swept the young 
ruflBans off from him, as he would have done so many 
flies, and sent them running in every direction, with more 
than one mark of his muscular power upon their persons. 
In the scuffle, the individual whom he had seized, escaped 
before he fully recognized him, yet though Edwin did not 
breathe his suspicions to his friends, he felt assured that 
the rascal was his unworthy room-mate, Thomas Braxton. 
This httle incident, and the scene which they had just 
left, afforded ourflittle party abundant material for conver- 
sation, as they proceeded to the residence of Mrs. Mudge. 
Edwin was much pleased with the good sense indicated by 
his companion's remarks, and coupled as it was with great 
vivacity of spirits, he was even charmed. Young ladies 
generally, according .to his observation of the world, pos- 
sessed so little power of conversation, and contented them- 
selves with such superficial comments on what they read, 
saw, and heard, that it was refreshing to meet with one 
whose mind had been sufficiently cultivated to enable her 
to apply something more than mere epithets to the differ- 
ent subjects which addressed her judgment. He had seen 
young ladies, ‘ highly educated’ ones too, who, after listen- 
ing more than an hour to a good discourse, were unable 
to repeat a single idea of the entire lecture. Either they 
had very weak memories, or were bad exponents of them- 
selves. It gratified him that his beautiful companion was 
not one of these. 

For her part, Susan Mudge thought that she had 
never passed a more interesting evening ; and as for Kate 
Godwin and Nathan, they were in the best humor possible. 

On their arrival at her room, Mrs. Mudge was pleased 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 63 

to see Nathan with them, and to learn that he had been 
their companion nearly the whole evening. After the 
lapse of as short a time as sufficient to recount the inci- 
dents of their visit, and to concert measures- amongst the 
ladies for rendering further assistance to the poor Irish 
family, Edwin gave an arm to each of the aunts (who 
had left with Mrs. Mudge some nice jellies which they had 
brought with them), and, followed by Nathan and Cathe- 
rine, the coterie bade adieu to the invalid and her fair 
daughter, and wended their way homeiirards. 


CHAPTER YII. 

Nathan becomes an attendant at the Thespian Theatre — Tom 
Braxton as Hamlet — The Folly of Eunice Scammons — She joins 
the Forrestians — More Temptations — Our Hero learns to drink 
wine — The Apology for Genteel Groggeries — ^Nathan visits them, 
and is convinced by Braxton of their Harmlessness. 

Some weeks elapsed, and, in the meantime, Nathan 
Mudge was a frequent visitor at the * Forrestians’ ’ thea- 
tre. On these occasions, he was accustomed to see the 
pretty Eunice Scammons, his master’s chambermaid, 
amongst the audience, and, sometimes (when he was not 
* on,’ as the players term it, when they are acting), Tom 
Braxton might be seen sitting at her side. One night, Nat 
was favored with an admission behind the curtain, and an 
introduction, by his fellow-apprentice, to a young person in 
a white frock, bedeckecf with flowers, and a profusion of 
pink knots. ^ Allow me, as the Hamlet of the evenin’ ,’ 
said Tom, as he presented the girl, ' to introduce to my 


64 new england boys, or 

friend Mudge, the beautiful Ojphdia P Nathan was bow- 
ing with awkward politeness, when the other two burst 
into a loud laugh, and he perceived, for the first time, that 
‘ Ophelia’ was no other than Eunice Scammons. 

‘ Twig how he stares !’ said Tom, pointing to Nathan. 
‘ Oh, ain’t this rich ? What do you think old Godwin 
would say, if he knew we three were here V And he 
laughed again, in high glee. They were all very much 
amused ; so much so, indeed, that Tom (who was dressed 
in a Merrimac shirt, dyed black, and decorated with 
beads of the same color), declared vociferously, that, on 
this auspicious occasion, the whole company should be 
treated to a glass of wine. ‘ The dehut of the only lady in 
the company merited, he thought, this trifling tribute.’ 
This sentiment was enthusiastically seconded by Mr. 
Chisel, who was dressed for Polonius, in an old silk wrap- 
per, top-boots, and a tow-wig, which smelt very offensively 
of the glue he had used in its manufacture. Upon this 
hint the tall, lath-like young gentleman, who on this oc- 
casion represented the ghost of Hamlet’s father, produced 
a demijohn and a broken tumbler. ‘ I beg leave, brother 
actors,’ said Mr. Chisel, helping himself to the first drink, 
‘ to give you the health of Miss Eunice Scammons : may 
the path of glorious renown which this evenin’ opens to 
her, always be, like the American Eagle, goin’ up higher I’ 
This toast was highly applauded, and one after another, 
all present, including Nathan Mudge, drank it standing — 
there happening to be no chairs in which to sit down. 

By this time the audience had assembled, and were 
using various ingenious methods for producing noise, such 
as mewing, barking, cat-calling, shouting ‘ hyst that rag I’ 


THE THKEE APPRENTICES. 65 

&c., &c. In a few minutes the Merrimac curtain went 
np, and the play went on, — at least, ^garts of it. The 
butante, Eunice (it was ^ Miss St. Myers, ^ on the bill), 
was received with an enthusiasm, that, as Mr. Chisel after- 
wards stated, ‘ brought down the house.’ She went 
through some snatches of her part with very little know- 
ledge of their meaning, but she was a tolerable singer, and 
as she was not lacking in confidence, her songs were ap- 
plauded, especially that of ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ which she 
introduced with great effect I Tom Braxton as Hamlet 
also brought down the house. 

‘ What a lucky dog your chum is 1’ said Bob Chisel to 
Nathan, as they stood together at one of the wings, listen- 
ing to Ophelia’s song ; ‘ don’t I wish I was in his shoes I’ 

‘ What for V inquired Nathan. 

‘ What for I’ said the other, ‘ don’t everybody know that 
she is his — ^ 

‘ Go on, Polonius P sung out the prompter ; and, with- 
out finishing the sentence. Chisel glanced a moment at his 
part, brushed down his tow vug, pulled up his top boots, 
drew his wrapper around him, seized a whitewashed 
clothes pole, and strutted on to the stage. 

At about nine o’clock, the play was over, and in a few 
minutes after, Tom and Eunice had resumed their proper 
dresses again, and were ready to accompany Nathan home. 
Of course he had to give his flattering opinion of their 
achievements over and over again. So highly did Braxton 
appreciate the critical acumen thus manifested, that he 
promised to make his chum a member of the company 
whereat the latter was highly elated. Arrived at home, 
Tom bade Eunice to tell Mr. Godwin that they were abed, 


56 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

if he should ask, and he prepared to let them in at the 
back gate when they returned, for he and Nat were not 
going in just then. Promising to comply, Eunice went 
into the house and told her relatives what a beautiful lec- 
ture she had heard the Rev. Mr. Hague preach. 

The young men turned round, and walked up Hanover 
street. 

‘ We shall see some of our fellers up here at Brigham^s 
bar-room,’ said Tom. 

‘ I don’t like to go into these bar-rooms,’ said Nat j ‘ my 
mother was always opposed to them.’ 

^ Oh, she means these groggiries P said Tom. * Those 
low three-cent liquor shops, where they sell to any Paddy 
that comes along I I’m opposed to them as much as she 
is. They ought to be put down, that’s a fact. They are 
great nuisances. There is no mistake about that^ I believe. 
But these things may be conducted in a genteel way, and 
no one be the worse for it.^ 

^P’raps so,’ said Nathan dubiously. 

‘ There ain’t no ;pWa$s about it I It i$ so,’ said Tom. 
* And now, just out o’ curiosity, you just come along with 
me, and I’ll show you that there are some bar-rooms as 
elegant and proper as anybody could wish. Oh, I go in 
for puttin’ down the unprincipled three-cmt&rs, and I only 
shy into ’em occasionally, just to see life and kind o’ study 
character ! A good actor ought to know what men are, 
or how can they play ’em ? Oh, Nat, human natur’ is 
a great study ! Any feller that’s fly in thatj may snap his 
fingers at all hook-worms like Ed. Fairbanks^ ’cause then 
he’s never sucked in, and nobody can’t gum him 1 But 
how can a feller study human natur’ in the chimney corner ? 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 6*1 

He can^t do it I He must go round some. Where there 
is all sorts o’ people — them’s the places 1 Now here, in 

the House, you generally see the chaps who drive 

crack horses, and are at the top o’ the walk at Porter’s, 
or the race-course I’ 

With these observations still upon his lips, which his 
companion thought almost oracular, Braxton drew Nathan 
into the office, of a popular hotel. Everything looked very 
respectable. There was a bar, but it was made of beau- 
tiful white marble, and there were no liquors — in sight. 
Sitting around, smoking, sipping punch, and reading the 
evening papers, were a number of young men, with a slight 
dash of the corsam in their composition, but well and even 
fashionably dressed. One of these, a person with a great 
deal of hair upon his head and face, and a chest so broad 
that it amounted to a deformity, was, it seemed, acquainted 
with Braxton, for he gave him his hand, and inquired, with 
a sohcitude which Nathan thought highly creditable to 
him, after the health of Miss Eunice Scammons. 

^ She is a mighty fine girl !’ said the broad-chested gen- 
tleman, knocking the ashes from a cigar which he was 
smoking. 

' ‘ A poor thing, but mine own,’ as Touchstone observes,’ 
said Tom, indifferently. By the way, allow me to intro- 
*duce you to my chum, our Low Comedy that is to be. 
Mr. Chuggs, Mister Mudge— Mr. Mudge, Mister Chuggs, 
the celebrated boxer 1’ 

‘ This, then, is the great pugilist I ■\^at an honor I’ 
thought Nathan, who had an exalted idea of all ‘ profes- 
sional men,’ and especially those connected with the stage 
and the ring. 


58 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

* Gentlemw-n, let us Aimbibe said Mr. Chuggs, approach- 
ing the bar. This ‘ ^introduction deserves a christening I 
Will you have jpunch V 

The latter inquiry being directed to Thomas Braxton, 
was responded to by him with a cordial assent. 

‘^Zbf course, your friend Muggs — Muggs, I think, is his 
^appellation ? will join us I Three whiskey punches, John ; 
'ot I’ The last words were intended for a gentlemanly 
looking young man, who, with a thin face, ‘ sicklied o^er 
with the pale cast of thought,^ or something else, was 
looking wistfully from the other side of the bar. Taking 
their seats at a marble table in the further room, the walls 
of which were htmg with voluptuous paintings in costly 
frames, the trio were each, after the lapse of a minute, pre- 
sented by ‘ John’ with a large cut* glass tumbler, nearly 
full of a crystal liquid, topped with sparkling foam. 
Nathan felt some disinclination to drink, but after what 
Mr. Chuggs had said, he thought it would be ill-mannered 
to refuse. Besides — everything looked so respectahle ! 

* Gentlemen, pledge with me to the pretty Eunice 1’ said 
the polite pugilist, putting the glass to his mouth. 

Tom Braxton raised his tumbler with a flourish, as he 
had seen players do with gilt goblets, and echoed the 
words, 

‘ The lovely Eunice I’ * 

Nat mumbled something in imitation, and sipped his 
punch like the^st. He had drank beer and wine before, 
but this was tre first time that he had ever tasted ardent 
spirit, and it pleased him^o little, that he put down his 
glass on the table, from which he would not have again 
|*a^d it, had not his fellow-apprentice insinuated a sneer 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. ' 69 

in regard to ‘ weak busters/ which so stung the foolish 
Nathan, that in a moment after, he raised the tumbler to 
his lips and swallowed the remainder of its contents. The 
disguised poison tingled in his nose, glistened in his eyes, 
and rushed like a flame, that warmed without burning, 
through every vein and artery in his body. He became 
voluble, and Mr. Chuggs complimented him upon his wit, 
of which he did in truth possess some, though the fun he 
made arose chiefly from his drollery and humor. Nathan 
never felt more elated in his life ; which is saying a great 
deal, for he was one of those who always laugh until the 
tears come. He felt that he was beginning to be appre- 
ciated. 

Their punches finished, the pugilist and the apprentices 
parted ; the former first exacting of Tom, a promise that 
he would make him better acquainted with Eunice on the 
earliest occasion offered. 

‘ Now, my old biffer 1’ said Tom, slapping Nat on the 
shoulder, as, after bidding good night to Mr. Chuggs, they 

emerged from the House, ‘ what do you say for a 

cruise V 

* Done!’ exclaimed Nathan, whom the drink had made 
ripe for a frolic. * I’m on hand 1’ 

* ’Nough said ; shake I’ rejoined Braxton, grasping his 
companion’s hand, and taking his arm. ‘ Now for a hiz ! 
Eirst, I’ll take you into Concert Hall, then to the Albion, 
and the Pavihon. After that, we’ll drop into the Tremont 
House.’ 

‘ Ha, ha, ha 1 Just to give it a tone, hey ? That’s 
capital I’ said Nathan. ‘ But we couldn’t get a drink 
there, though, could we V 


60 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

* Yes I’ replied Braxton. 

' What I at the Trmont V said Nat, incredulously. 

* Yes, I say reiterated Tom. 

‘ No — 0 V said Nathan. ‘ What, us V 

‘ Why, what a rum customer you are replied Braxton. 

* To be sure we could I AinT our money as good as any- 
body else’s ? This is a free country, and a bar’s a bar, no 
matter whether it’s in the ‘ Tremont’ or the ‘ Bite.' The 
only difference is, that at the ‘ Bite,’ you can get a drink 
for three cents, and at the ‘ Tremont’ you have to pay 
twelve.’ 

‘What do they have so much more for?’ inquired 
Nathan. 

‘ That’s to pay them for sittin’ the fashion, and makin’ 
the thing respectable, I s’pose,’ said Tom. 

In accordance with Braxton’s proposal, the two appren- 
tices went the round of all the fashionable tippling houses, 
and as they drank and smoked in more than one of them, 
it was not until the clock struck eleven, that they started 
homeward. • • 

There was something in the atmosphere of the places he’ 
had visited, which seemed so conducive to liberality, hi- 
larity, and good feeling, that it completely fascinated 
Nathan Mudge, who never looked beneath the surface and 
show of things. What might have appeared to a quiet, 
serious observer, as artificial and revolting as the spas- 
modic movements of a galvanized body, seemed to Nathan 
perfectly easy and natural. The bursts of cordiality, wit, 
mirth, and profuse generosity, which came from the hun- 
dreds of young men whom he met in these resorts, were no 
healthy, natural ebullitions of the heart, any more than the 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


61 


laughter which follows the inhalation of exhUarating gas 
is the effect of a regular inherent sympathy, but were 
merely the emanations of deleterious stimulants. 

It was not his acquaintance, Sam, who slapped him on 
the shoulder, in one of these bar-rooms during the evening, 
and was so overjoyed to see him. It was the ^ Tom-atid- 
Jtrry' which Sam had just drank. It was not young 
Stebbins who made that pun just now ; it was the cham- 
pagne which he had taken ; and it was wine that laughed, 
not they who stood around. Some one in the sha'gt of the 
carpenter’s apprentice had offered Nathan an oyster supper, 
but in point of fact, it was not Mr. Chisel’s proposal, but 
that of a strong ginirsling^ which, to use his own phrase, he 
had just ‘ imbibed.’ So, too, the wild mirth of young 
Mudge, which provoked a threat from a watchman, on his 
way home, that he would arrest hiin if he were not more 
quiet, was a gross exaggeration of his usual buoyancy ; 
and not his own, but a caricature produced by the punch. 


CHAPTER YIII. 

The Boyish Bacchanals steal Horae — ^Nathan grows Impudent, and 
Thomas Quarrelsome. — They plunder the Pantry, and steal their 
Master’s Wine. — The New Apprentice insults the Senior, and pro- 
vokes his Punishment. — They are discovered by their Master. — His 
Grief. — The Scene in the Cellar .—Giles Godwin sets an extraordi- 
nary example to ‘ the Gentlemen of the Old School.’ 

* Hullo 1’ said Thomas, in a whisper to Nathan, after 
Eunice had let them in at the back door, and they had 
sneaked up to their room, * there^s old Smashpipes, Ed. 


62 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

Fairbanks grinding out ideas, and spoiling foolscap, as 
usual! Don’t you stand any of his lectures, now!’ 

* I don’t mean to!’ said Nathan, and commenced whist- 
ling Jim Crow. 

‘ It is Y&rj late, Nathan. I wouldn’t whistle so loud I 
You will disturb the family,’ said Edwin mildly. 

* I’ll whistle as much as I like!’ said Nat, ‘ and stay out 
as late as I please!’ 

^Haw, haw, haw!’ laughed Thomas jeeringly, at 
Edwin. 

* It is not right,’ said the senior apprentice, ‘ to treat 
Mr. Godwin as you do. You may think it perfectly 
manly to enter the house clandestinely after the family are 
abed, as you have done frequently of late, but I think it 
an evasion unworthy of you both, and especially Nathan, 
who has been taught better things!’ 

‘ Hadn’t you better peach V said Tom, with a malignant 
sneer. ‘ Hadn’t you better tell of us ?’ 

‘ I have felt that I was doing wrong to conceal your 
repeated disobedience of his orders, from Mr. Godwin, 
and I do give you both fair warning, now, that if you in- 
fringe his regulations' again, I shall feel it my duty to 
expose you,’ replied Edwin, calmly returning the angry 
look of Braxton. 

‘ You will, will you ?’ said the latter, throwing off his 
jacket, and shaking his fist at the senior, ‘ Then you had 
better get your head insured ; ’cause yer see we don’t 
stand any of your nonsense.’ 

Disregarding the menaces which Braxton continued to 
utter, Edwin addressed young Mudge kindly, and inquired 
why he spent so few of his evenings now at home, and told 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


63 


him that his mother had that night expressed mnch regret 
that he was with her so little. 

‘ Oh, so you’ve been at her honse agin, have yer V said 
Tom. * Well, that’s the reason Nat don’t go home — ^’cause 
you’re there so mnch, shinin’ np to his sister. But yon 
can’t come in. That’s my shine!’ 

Nathan laughed at this (though he didn’t feel exactly 
easy, either), and began to sing a song. Thomas joined 
him, because he knew that it would displease Edwin. 

* Nathan, you will annoy the folks with your singing/ 
said the elder apprentice, in a tone of persuasion ; you 
had better go to bed.’ 

* Yes, go to bed, as your mammy bids yerl’ said Brax- 
ton, mocking. ‘ No, Nat, we know a trick worth two o’ 
that ; don’t we ? Come, let’s make a levy on somethin’ 
to eat, down stairs! Come, my old bififer, come along!’ 

Edwin looked a remonstrance, but it was in vain. 
Thomas pushed his companion out of the room, and, after 
putting his thumb to his nose, and making a face at the 
student, left the room. 

After being absent some minutes, the two apprentices 
returned, bearing with them the fragments of a boiled 
fowl and a bowl of wine. They had evidently been eat- 
Log and drinking already, to judge from their greasy faces 
and increased volubility. 

^ What made me think of taking the wine ?’ said Brax- 
ton ; ‘ why, I thought of it the first time I saw the' pipe 
in the cellar. Thinks I to myself as I saw it, My fine 
feller, you and I’ll become better acquainted, ’fore long. 
The old man shan’t monopolize all the good things! I 
found a nail that would turn the cock, and tapped it, one 


64 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

night. I have been wearin’ away at it, off and on, ever 
since, and rather guess it’s pretty materially lowered by 
this time I’ 

‘ It’s the best joke,’ said Nathan, laughing and hickup- 
ping, ‘ the best joke that I’ve heard for a dog’s age.’ 

‘ Did you call foi chicken ?’ said Tom, carrying the car- 
case of a fowl, and presenting it to Edwin, who went on 
with his writing, without regarding the annoyance. 

‘ Perhaps you’ll take some wine ? Here, pass the flow- 
ing bowl, Nat I’ said Tom, who was in a hectoring mood, 
and taking the vessel of wine, he set it down dripping wet 
upon Edwin’s manuscript. The senior apprentice was in- 
censed, but he put the bowl aside without a word, and 
proceeded to repair the injury done to his writing. Then, 
the wicked apprentice, emboldened by the other’s forbear- 
ance, continued to press the fowl upon him^^and- at last 
thrust it roughly into his face. This was more than flesh 
and blood could bear, and, out of patience, Edwin seized 
Braxton by the shoulders, and shook him almost to a 
jelly. Meanwhile, Nathan stood by with a bowl of wine, 
hickupping and bewildered. In this unfortunate state of 
affairs, the door opened, and w^ho should enter the room 
but Giles Godwin ! 

The master had been engaged, like his elder apprentice, 
upon some writing in his own room, and he had heard the 
boys’ footsteps on the stairs, as they returned from the 
cellar, and the subsequent noise in their chamber. 

At the sight of his venerable employer, Edwin let go of 
Braxton, who straightway smoothed down his ruffled 
feathers, and assumed a very injured air. Nathan stood 
abashed, wishing that the bowl in his hand were anywhere 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 65 

else, and cutting as awkward a figure as can well be 
conceived. 

‘ What is the meaning of all this V said the old man, in 
a tone which made the two culprits tremble. Immediately 
Thomas Braxton attempted to implicate Edwin. 

* Be still, sir said the printer sternly. * Nathan, set 
that bowl upon the table. Edwin is your elder, Thomas ; 
let him speak first.^ 

* Oh,’ grumbled Braxton, with a hickup, ‘ of course 
he’ll lie about it I’ 

* Silence, sirrah I’ said Giles, not in a loud voice, but 
one which even the impudent apprentice dared not disobey. 
‘ Edwin is incapable of such meanness ! I trust he will 
satisfactorily explain his participation in this riotous and 
disgraceful scene.’ 

Thus appealed to, Eairbanks narrated the circumstances 
which had terminated in the situation in which he and his 
fellow-apprentices had been discovered.’ 

‘ I believe you speak the truth, Edwin, though I sus- 
pect with more forbearance to these boys than they 
deserve I’ said Mr. Godwin. 

* Forbearance ?’ said Tom with a sneer ; * oh, yes ! he 
has forbore to commit himself finely I We shouldn’t have 
taken the wine if it hadn’t been for him. I guess if the 
truth were known, he has taken more than one horn of it. 
He told us where it was, and, if you don’t believe he drank 
any, you just smell of his hands 1 Oh, he’s an old one ; 
^ is ! To believe his story, sugar wouldn’t melt in his 
mouth 1 But it’s all a parcel of smooth lies. I’ll le^ve it 
to Nat, if it ain’t V 

*Oh, what’s the use o’ lyin’ about it?’ said Nathan, 


66 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

regarding the manly bearing of Edwin with admiration. 
‘ Edwin has told nothing but the truth. I am even more 
to blame than he has said.^ 

* You may be, but I ain’t I’ said Thomas sullenly. 

‘ How vile and loathsome Falsehood seems by the side 
of Truth I’ said Giles Godwin. ‘ Nathan, you have hair 
redeemed your fault, great as it is. Thomas Braxton, if 
you knew how like a crawling and degraded thing you 
appear standing there, as you do, branded with the false- 
hood and calumny which you have just uttered, I think 
you would never speak, henceforth, anything but the 
honest truth 1’ 

Thomas flinched for a moment under this rebuke, but the 
feeling of humiliation passed rapidly away, and regaining 
his wonted impudence, he said, 

* Well, supposin’ that I did help Nat to drink the wine ; 
apprentices ought to have their fair share of everything in 
the house I It’s all very fine for old ones to tell us hoys 
not to drink, but what makes you drink ? Or if you don’t 
drink, what makes you keep wine in your house V 

This was a close hit, but the old man, with a slight 
flush, immediately rejoined, — 

* If I were to keep any after the lesson of to-night, I feel 
that I should do wrong. Come with me, Edwin, and you, 
boys, to the cellar. Follow me' without a word. I dislike 
to disturb the house, but I must make an example.’ 

The manner of Giles, was very resolute, and his appren- 
tices followed him in silence to the basement of the house. 
The cellar, which was a very large one, with a number of 
arches, and a very extensive pile of wood, was paved with 
brick. In one of the arches, directly over a slight gutter 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 6t 

leading to a grated drain, rested the pipe of wine. The 
old man set down the light on the stairs, and regarding 
Braxton sternly, bade him hand the axe. Pale and 
trembling with fear, the delinquent did as he was bidden. 
jSTathan was agape with expectation. 

‘ This wine,’ said Giles, ‘ has been where you see it for 
more than twenty years. I never was addicted to the 
use of stimulants of any kind, but it was the custom of 
our fathers — a custom it was thought, until quite recently 
unobjectionable — ^for every one who could afford it, to 
keep them in his house. I continued to do so, like many 
other men of the old school, who thought the occasioual 
use of a glass of wine or liquors rather beneficial than 
otherwise, until the alarming increase of intemperance of 
late years induced me to discard from my house everything 
in the shape of ardent spirits ; for I felt that, though I 
could have used them a lifetime without injury to myself — 
for I rarely drank— all heads were not as cool as my own, 
and in placing the temptation before my guests, I set an 
example which the vilest drunkard in the world might 
point at in justification of his own excesses. I did not 
think it necessary to send away this wine. It is true, I 
seldom tasted it, and the bare interest upon its first cost 
was exceeding its original value every day, but it had 
been purchased by my father on account of its extreme 
age and excellence, and I have set great store upon it for 
his sake. Yaluable as it is in a pecuniary view, however, 
it is not worth the sacrifice of truth. No! Bather than 
it should have contributed to the demoralization which 
(with what inexpressible pain and mortification I need not 
tell you), I have witnessed to-night, I would have cast it 


C8 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

ont though it had been twenty such I It is worse than 
good for nothing here, tempting as it has done, my appren- 
tices to disobedience, falsehood, slander, and debauchery I 
I do not know that its use can tend to anything but harm. 
It is not of the kind sometimes prescribed in sickness. 1 
could sell it for a i^rge sum, it is true, but it shall not be 
said of Giles Godwin, that he put that into his brother^a 
hands which he feared to hold in his own. If it have any 
value, let it lend force to the example which I shall set to 
others in my situation, in putting it to the only use for 
which it is fitl^ 

With these words, the sturdy printer raised the axe in. 
^ his muscular gripe, and with one powerful blow, dashed in 
the head of the winepipe, the red and sparkling contents 
of which immediately burst forth in a torrent, which, after 
coursing like mad through the little brick gutter, emptied 
itself into the grated cesspool in the centre of the cellar. 

When he had struck the blow which had put so sum- 
mary an end to what he had been accustomed for many 
years to regard as quite an item of his little property, the 
old man leaned over upon the axe in his hands, and regarded 
the costly flood in silence. The conscience-stricken Nathan 
looked on, with uplifted hands ; and Thomas Braxton 
seemed stupefied with wine and wonder. Edwin, after a 
look of pride and admiration at his master, glanced reprov- 
ingly at the two apprentices, and pointed to the red 
torrent which was rapidly exhausting itself. In two or 
three minutes, every drop of the wine had disappeared. 
The printer then took up the light which he had left on 
the stairs, and conducted his apprentices to their room, at 
the door of which he bade them good-night, with an inti- 



GILES GODWIN FORESIIADOWS THE MAINE LAW FOR 
THE BENEFIT OF HIS APPRENTICES. 




^ t, * ^ 




• ■ 


# • 


• m 0 







THE THREE APPRENTICES. 69 

mation that he should, on the morrow, confer farther with 
them on the subject of that night^s occurrences. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Nathan Improves and Eelapses again — Takes Lessons in Hypocrisy 
— A few Reflections on tk ^ Gentility of Guilt — Broken Promises — 
Nat’s Mother becomes very 111 — He breaks his Resolve, and joins 
a Rowdy Party on a Sleigh-ride — Description of a Popular Hotel in 
Cambridge — Hot Words and Hot Suppers. 

For the week succeeding the incidents narrated in the 
last chapter, Nathan Mudge followed his good mothers 
counsel, and adhered to the path of duty from which he 
had so lamentably swerved. The change so desirable, 
however, was only transitory. It was not long before he 
listened to the voice of the tempter, and was again led 
astray. It was a great while before the two apprentices 
dared infringe the rule established for their return at night; 
and in some other things they appeared to adhere scrupu- 
lously to their master’s wishes. I say appeared, because 
their obedience was more in seeming than in point of fact. 
The frank, open-hearted Nathan began to learn, from 
Thomas, how'to dissemble. He deceived his mother and 
sister, with whom he now spent few of his evenings, by 
ascribing the infrequency of his visits to work at the office, . 
and engagements at home. The truth was that bar-rooms, 
theatres, bowling-alleys, sleigh-rides,^ and suppers, with 
dissipated companions like Braxton, occupied nearly alL 
his leisure. Months passed. His blue eye lost its 
healthy clearness ; his lip, once so ruby, too often wore 


70 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

the disgusting tinge of tobacco. He bocame almost as 
careless and slovenly about his work as Thomas. Some- 
times when he came to see her, at her request — she had to 
request him to come, now 1 — ^his sick parent, who was every 
day growing weaker, would take his hand in hers, and 
looking with all the fond anxiety of a mother into his face, 
gay that ^ she feared all was not well with him At 
Buch times, her son would shed tears of contrition, and, 
endeavoring to reassure her sinking heart, internally 
resolve to do better. Alas 1 the tie which linked Nathan’s 
good resolve to Nathan’s act, was a rope of sand I He 
diverged from the path of rectitude so gradually, that he 
hardly perceived it himself, and the sin was so gilded, that 
it blinded his eyes to its increasing magnitude. The 
splendor of the resorts which he visited, is even now, as it 
was then, cited in their defence, but how wretched and 
rotton is the argument I It is not the filthy and poverty- 
stricken den of debauchery which first seduces the victim 
to ruin. It is not that which makes him the drunkard. 
That crime lies at the door of the marble-countered, highly 
decorated, brilliantly illuminated palace of King Alcohol. 
It is time enough when the tyrant’s victims are kicked out 
of the back door, for them to seek shelter in his sheds and 
outhouses. Like the eloquent Mr. Gough, who after 
drinking the cup of intemperance to the very dregs, was, 
through the goodness of God and the blessed instrumenta- 
lity of the Washingtonians, entirely reformed, and has 
already been the means of rescuing hundreds of poor 
drunkards from the road to ruin, Nathan Mudge was called 
* the life’ of the little circle of thoughtless companions in 
which he now moved. He had an inexhaustible fund of 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 

drollery, sang a good song, and took an almost indispensa- 
ble part in every frolic which Braxton set afoot. The ap- 
plause and flattery lavished upon him by his companions 
intoxicated him even more than their wine, and when he 
found his society courted by the more buckish of those 
who frequented the same resorts, neither the entreaties of 
his mother and sister, nor the counsel and remonstrances 
of Giles and Edwin, could prevent his becoming entirely 
fascinated with this dissolute fellowship. He loved his 
mother with all the warmth of affection characteristic of 
him, and he never replied to her appeals with obstinacy 
or anger, but frequently with tears, and always with pro- 
mises to be to her what he once was — obedient and dutiful. 
But out of her presence, he forgot her fears for him, or 
thought them unreasonably exaggerated, and listened 
again with increasing relish, if possible, to the insidious 
suggestions of Tom Braxton. All this wore upon her 
sadly. Her illness had assumed the appearance of con- 
sumption, and the unrest of mind occasioned by her son^s 
irregularities, was not, by any means, conducive to its cure. 
In the meantime, the blue eye of Susan Mudge lost its 
wonted brilliancy, and her spirits, buoyant in toiPs spite, 
as long as her brother was himself, would at times sink 
within her. 

The spring and summer time passed, with only an occa- 
sional amendment on his part. Autumn, too, flew by, and 
again the snow was on the ground. 

‘Now, Nat, for the first sleigh-ride of the season!^ said 
Thomas Braxton to his fellow-apprentice, as they issued 
from the printing-office of Giles Godwin, one day after a 
heavy fall of snow. ‘ We’ll propose it at the meeting of 


72 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

the Rawbones, to-night. What d’ye say, my fine feller ; 
shall we have a jolly good spree ?’ 

‘ By gorryl yes, let’s go it I’ said Nat, who, like his com- 
panion, cultivated his whiskers, and his taste for tobacco, 
together with sundry other mcmnish accomplishments. 
Amongst the rest, he had acquired the habit of swearing, 
but he was not obscene, and as yet not so profane as Brax- 
ton. Much of their language we are compelled to omit in 
the dialogue, as improper to be printed. As it is, we have 
found it necessary, in order to preserve a tolerable verisi- 
militude, to preserve some colloquial expressions, not inde- 
cent, certainly, but still such as we do not wish to be un- 
derstood as in anywise tolerating. 

‘ But stop!’ said Nathan, looking disappointed ; * come 
to think, I can’t go. My mother, you know, is very sick.’ 

‘ Oh, blow your mother,’ said his sub, rudely. 

‘ You are a brute, Tom Braxton!’ said Nathan Mudge, 
casting the other’s arm from him indignantly. ^ You are 
a brute to speak in that way. I will not go with you 
now, at any rate.’ 

‘ Well, you needn’t get mad about it,’ said Tom. ‘ I was 
only joking. If your staying at home would make her 
any better, I’d hold up both my hands for it, ’cause I ain’t 
got no enmity to her, though she does talk about me. 
But, because one is sick, it’s no reason why all the rest 
should be!’ 

‘ TJnless it’s a corilagious sickness, and then they can’t 
help themselves,’ said Nathan, recovering his good humor. 
And the momentary cloud which had lowered upon his 
face suddenly vanished before the broad sunshine of his 
laugh. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


*13 


* You’re a rum ’un!’ said Tom, approvingly, *I’m sorry 
for your mother, and if it will do her any good to have 
you mope at home with the blues, instead of enjoyin’ your- 
self like a rational bein’, why Tom Braxton would be the 
last feller to say /’ 

‘ I don’t think I shall go,’ said Nathan, but not so reso- 
lutely as before. 

^ I think you will I’ thought Thomas to himself. The 
result proved that he was right. On the morrow, Nathan 
did not go near his mother, lest a requisition should be 
made upon his attendance in the evening. At night, along 
with Thomas, he joined about twenty other young men 
(members of the dissolute club to which Braxton had 
alluded), in a large double sleigh, drawn by four horses, 
and rode out to a famous resort in Cambridge. The large 
bar-room at this place was, as usual, crowded with young 
men imbibing hot stimulants, and puffing forth such dense 
clouds of cigau smoke, that the only object which Nathan 
could at first distinguish was the huge fire in the centre. 
The clinking of toddy-sticks and spoons against glasses, 
and the hum of a hundred voices all talking at once, in 
the bar-room itself, was almost deafening, and the din was 
very superfluously exaggerated by the noise of a ball 
overhead, and the bawling of select parties of bacchana- 
lians in private apartments. Every minute rapid jingling 
of sleigh-bells, and the galloping of panting horses up to 
the door, announced a new arrival from the city ; and 
every new arrival added to the tumult of the discordant 
sounds within. 

This is what I call said Tom to Nathan, as their 
4 


74 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OK 

party stood round the big fire, warming themselves, before 
adjourning to a private room. 

^ AinH it though V saidXat, enthusiastically, and almost 
choking with tobacco smoke. 

‘ A good place to study charaderP observed Braxton. 

‘That is to say, if anybody here has got any!’ said 
Kathan, quietly. 

‘ What’s that you say V inquired a bystander, whom 
drinking had rendered quarrelsome. 

‘ ]5^one of your business!’ said Thomas, taking it upon 
himself to speak for his companion. Hard words ensued. 

‘ A fight ! a fight !’ cried a hundred eager voices, and 
in a moment the belligerents were jammed together by the 
surrounding crowd. Blows succeeded. Kot many, for the 
combatants, though goaded on by their respective friends 
(!) were soon parted by the energetic attendants, who 
seemed to be perfectly used to such scenes ; but not until 
Nathan had made his opponent’s nose bleed profusely, and 
got one of his own eyes badly bruised. For a few minutes, 
the bar-room was like a disturbed hornet’s nest. Mulled 
wine and spirituous liquors had so excited the evil passions 
of those present, that they desired nothing so much as a 
simultaneous mMee. They raged, they fumed, they blas- 
phemed. But the landlord was not a man to be trifled 
with, and he held the storm with a tight rein, until it was 
allayed, and the two apprentices and their party passed 
into the room which had been prepared for them. Here 
they partook of a heavy hot supper, and amid the profu- 
sion of steaming stimulants and consequent excitement, 
Nathan Mudge soon forgot his swollen eye, though it was 


THE THREE APTREX TICES. 


15 


in ..especial honor of it that he had been placed at the 
head of the table, at the suggestion of Tom, who took 
upon himself to officiate at the other end. Here Isathan 
felt that he was in his element. He sang comic songs, told 
funny stories, and was brim full and running over with wit, 
vivacity, and mirth. His fun was infectious, and the room 
rang with shouts and laughter of the young party of rakes. 
They drank and smoked, and smoked and drank again, 
and the hours passed unheeded. 


CHAPTER X. 

The bacchanalians set out for Boston — The assault on a College 
Boarding-house — The Dickens with the Old Driver — A Rough and 
Tumble — ‘Watch! Watch!’ — The Flying Horses offer an eligible 
prospect of broken necks — The Apprentices in the Custody of the 
Watch — The Unexpected Encounter with Giles Godwin — The 
Terrible Development — Nathan at the Deati-Bed of his Mother — 
The Denouement. 

At last with smarting eyes and throbbing pulses, the 
reeling club of apprentices, rioting at Cambridge, started 
for home again, singing, as goaded by their driver, the 
maddened horses almost flew along their snowy path, — 

‘ Come, landlord, fill your flowing bowl !’ 

After which Nathan lead off with, — 


and — 


‘ Sparkling and bright, in liquid light,’ etc. 
‘We won’t go home till morning !’ 


Then followed a number of other songs of the same 


76 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

character, and some far less decent, besides a great many 
snatches, which, coming from hoarse throats and discord- 
ant voices, materially contributed to ^ make night hideous/ 
When this half insane crew had reached the colleges, 
Tom Braxton called to the driver to ‘hold up’ in front of 
a large boarding-house which he pointed out. 

‘ Fellers I’ said he ‘ a chap ties up there, who was too 
big for his business, and has come out here to study law. 
Printin’ wasn’t good enough for him I You know who I 
mean. It’s Ed. Fairbanks. Three groans for old Smash- 
pipes I’ 

‘ No !’ said Nat, remonstrating ; but he was not heard, 
for his utterance was husky and indistinct. So the rowdies 
gave three groans, and Tom Braxton cast an empty bottle, 
which he had brought away from the wassail, with great 
violence through one of the windows. After venting this 
despicable spite upon Edwin Fairbanks, who, upon becom- 
ing of age, had, at the suggestion of Griles Godwin, and 
his own inclinations, gone to study in the law school at 
Cambridge, the dissolute party drove off as fast as the 
horses could carry them, giving utterance, in their flight, 
to all manner of yelling, whooping, and other barbarous 
noise. And this, they thought, was rational amusement I 

‘ Go up here through Temple-street, driver I’ said 
Braxton, when they had entered the city. ‘ We must 
give three cheers to the pretty Susan Mudge.’ 

This idea so pleased Nathan, who was too much in- 
toxicated even to remember the danger in which his mother 
was lying, that he shouted ‘ Bravo I go up Tem-Temple- 
street I’ 

Rough and uneducated though the driver was, he had 


IHE THREE APPRENTICES. It 

good sense enough to despise the company he carried, and 
out of all patience with their capricious and insolent dic- 
tation, he refused to go out of his way, asserting that he 
should proceed directly to the stable in Hanover-street. 

‘ None o’ your sarce 1’ cried Braxton. ‘ You turn up 
Temple-street when you come to it, or you may catch a 
lickin’ I’ 

The man made no reply, and, regardless of Braxton’s 
threats, continued up Cambridge-street, without slackening 
his pace. He was passing the end of Temple-street with- 
out pausing, when, with a shout of rage, the ugly appren- 
tice jammed his hat down over his eyes, and, assisted by 
one or two others, pulled him over into their midst. The 
driver halloed to the watch, and scrambled lustily to get 
away. In the tussel, Braxton, Nathan and the driver were 
precipitated from the sleigh ! Frightened out of their wits, 
the horses dashed away helter-skelter with the reins about 
their heels ; their fear and speed in nowise diminished by 
the cries of terror proceeding from the freight behind them. 

Caring more for his team than the revenge which 
he might now have easily wreaked upon the two appren- 
tices, the driver let go his hold upon their throats and ran 
away in pursuit of his affrighted horses. 

^ Stop him ! stop him I’ cried Nathan to a watchman 
who had come up, and was about to lay hands on him. 

^ There he goes I Don’t you see him cuttin’ round Bow- 
doin-square V 

‘No, you don% my fine feller I’ said the gruff guardian 
of the night ; ‘I know a trick worth two o’ that. So, 
come along o’ me I’ With this he seized hold of both the 
young men but Braxton gave him a severe blow in the 


78 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

face, which made him loose his hold, so that he escaped. 
Nathan would fain have followed his companion's example, 
but despite his struggles, the watchman was dragging him 
up Temple-street, when by a desperate effort, after having 
seemed to submit, he literally tore himself away, and fled 
for dear life into Cambridge-street. Just round the corner 
he ran plump into the arms of a passenger, who was walk- 
ing rapidly in that direction. 

‘ He is my prisoner I’ said the watchman, again laying 
hold of the youngster. 

* He is my apprentice I’ said Giles Godwin, looking at 
Nathan with unmingled surprise and sorrow. * On what 
charge do you arrest him V 

‘ For disturbing the peace, Mr. Godwin said the 
functionary, respectfully. 

^It is fortunate that you know me, sir,’ said Giles, 

* for I wish you to allow me to become responsible for his 
appearance at your requisition, to-morrow, and, in the 
meantime, give him into my charge. I would not inter- 
fere between him and the watch-house now, but that I de- 
sire his attendance at the death-bed of his mother, which, 
I have just been called to attend with what haste I may I’ 

‘ Good God !’ cried Nathan, white with horror and re- 
morse, ‘ what do I hear V 

* What do you here V said the old man sternly. * In a 
midnight brawl, when you should be beside your mother’s 
bed I Nathan, Nathan 1 I knew you to be thoughtless 
and dissipated, but I could not have believed you to be so 
lost to all filial feeling 1’ 

* Do not speak so to me, Mr. Godwin I’ said Nathan, 
completely sobered by his distress. ‘ I know I am a brute. 


THE THREE A%* PRENTICES. *19 

/ 

but indeed, indeed, I did not think that my poor mother 
was so ill I Oh I let us hasten to her I Perhaps she 
will die before I can get to her ! perhaps even now she 
is dead ! But oh no, no I I cannot believe it I Come, 
quick I quick 1’ and he hurried the old man away from the 
watchman, who suffered them to depart in peace, while he 
started off in pursuit of the fugitive Braxton. 

^ Oh, I cannot crawl along at this pace, and dying I 
Follow as fast as you can, but let me fly to her I’ said the 
impatient apprentice, when they had proceeded a few 
yards at the printer’s most rapid gait ; and abruptly leav- 
ing his master’s side he rather flew than ran over the 
space which intervened between him and his kinsfolk’s 
home. As he entered the gate, he heard his mother’s 
voice lifted in a loud and to him appalling tone, for of 
late her extreme weakness had prevented her from speak- 
ing above a whisper — calling, in the wildest accents of 
appeal, upon her absent boy. The agonizing cry lacer- 
ated his heart ! The next moment he rushed by his weep- 
ing sister, and the surrounding group of sympathising 
friends, and with the exclamation of ‘Mother I mother I’ 
knelt by the dying woman’s bedside. 

‘ My son ?’ said the poor lady, as she turned her glassy 
eye towards the unhappy young man, who, with her hand 
clasped in his own, was gazing with the most imploring 
expression, into her emaciated face, ‘that was not my 
dear Nathan’s voice I It was woful and shrill, while his 
is round and joyful 1’ Her mind evidently wandered, as, 
scanning him more closely, she continued, ‘No, no, you 
are not he I Ifis dress was tidy — yours is disordered and 
torn, IJis cheeks were blooming like the red rose — your? 


80 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OB 




are blanched white as the snow-flake I JIls eyes were as 
blue and fair as the brightest sky in June — ^yours are 
black and swollen. And seel the cold drops gather on 
your brow and fall upon my hand I Go, go, guilty one — 
go and pray I You are not my son. He never knew re- 
morse, for he was always gentle and good, and so kind to 
his poor mother! Were you not obedient to yours 

Nathan hid his face in the coverlid to conceal the vio- 
lence of his emotion. 

‘ Go and pray, then, that God may forgive you! Poor 
lad ! poor lad ! You tremble like the aspen-leaf. What 
do you fear ? I will intercede for you. God has been 
very gracious to me. I have served Him all my days, 
and He will hearken to my ijrayer 1^ With these words, 
the dying Christian supplicated God to forgive the sins of 
the repentant son, and make him to his mother what 
,pNathan was to Aer. Every word that she had uttered 
thus far, fell like sparks of fire upon the agonized heart 
of the wretched young man, who was still kneeling by the 
side of the bed, while his sister stood leaning against one 
of the posts at its foot, regarding him with tears of com^ 
passionate sorrow. The little group of sympathizing spee* 
tutors, composed of the printer’s twin-sisters. Doctor J. 

, and Edwin Fairbanks (who had stayed in town 

that night, and thus accidentally defeated the object of 
Braxton’s malice at Cambridge), was now joined by Mr. 
Godwin. 

‘ I hear your voice, Mr. Godwin, my good, good friend, 
though I can not see you I’ said Mrs. Mudge, in a low 
tone, and with her eyes closed, for their lids seemed 
have become rigid. 




THE THREE APPRENTICES. 81 

The kind-hearted printer approached and took her hand, 
and I^athan withdrew to another part of the room. Pre- 
sently, after a short interval of silence, broken only by 
the convulsive sobs of her children, a sudden gurgling 
took place in the sick woman^s throat. It was the mucus 
or phlegm, rising from her decayed lungs, and now very 
nearly strangling her, because she was at length too weak 
even for the effort of expectoration. The horrid sound 
indicated but too truly the little time she had to live. 

‘ Are you not in great pain, my poor friend V said Mr. 
Godwin, as he bent anxiously over the bed, and inclined 
his ear to her face. 

‘No, no!^ she replied, in a faint and broken whisper ; 
and a sweet smile played around her pale, thin lips ; 
‘Happy — ^happy — ^happy — happy I’ From this time, her 
voice grew higher at every word, until her breath entirely 
'failed her. She exclaimed, that she saw heaven, and 
Jesus, and the angels, and gave utterance to expressions 
of the most ecstatic joy. 

Giles had lost a son some years before — a promising boy 
whom she regarded with affection. In the midst of her 
raptures, she called upon Mr. Godwin to send his love to' 
‘ Charley’ (which was the name of his deceased child), for 
she should meet him in th^ heaven which she saw already 
opening to receive her released spirit. Then she glorified 
God and her Eedeemer, and words seeming too weak to 
express the holy adoration with which her soul was filled, 
she lifted her voice in hymns to the Almighty’s praise. 

Astonished that her weak frame should be capable of 
so extraordinary an effort, and fearing lest it should hasten 

4 * 


82 NEWENGLANDBOTSjOR 

her dissolution, one of Gileses sisters besought her, tenderly, 
not to speak so loud I 

* I must speak loud!^ cried the dying woman ; ‘ God bids 
me. There are deaf persons in the world, and I must 
speak loud.^ 

Soon after she called, in tones of anguish, for her son. 
* My poor — ^poor boy ? Why do you keep him from me ? 
Has he been undutiful ? I forgive him — I forgive him 
all I Oh, bring him hither! He will not turn a deaf ear 
to my last words, for he was a good child — a good child! 
Where is her V 

* Here, mother!’ said her contrite son, groaning in an 
agony of aflliction and remorse, as he took her wasted 
hand, and pressed it to his lips. ‘ Can you — can you for- 
give me V 

* N athan ! My son — ^my son ! My dear — dear N" athan !’ 
rather shrieked than exclaimed, his mother, opening her 
eyes and recognizing him for the first time ; * come nearer — 
nearer!’ Her voice fell, and though her lips continued 
to move for a few moments, they had uttered the last 
sound which would ever issue from them until that appal- 
ling note which announces death. But her gaze was still 
upon him, and to whatsoever part of the room he went 
during the short hour which still intervened between life 
and the emancipation of her pure spirit, her eyes followed 
her son with a mournful expression, which even the tem- 
porary oblivion of the drunkard’s bowl, years after, did 
not always succeed in banishing from his memory. At a 
few minutes past two, in the morning, her face suddenly 
lighted up with the sweetest snule, Edwin thought, that 


83 


.THE THREP APPRENTICES. 

he had ever seen on human face. It was the last flicker- 
ing ray of lifers brief taper. In another moment, with 
her countenance beaming upon her kneeling children, she 
brjeathed herlasti 


CHAPTER XI. 

Nathan comes nigh to follow his Mother — Is saved through the kind- 
ness of Kate Godwin — ^Recovers his Morals and his Health — 
Edwin Fairbanks leaves Cambridge to Pursue his Studies with 
more Economy in the Country — His Parents — The Secret Intem- 
perance of his Father, the only bar to the Happiness of his Family 
— The Domestic Quarrel — The Student domiciliates himself in a 
Deserted Lighthouse. 

The death and burial of the kind parent whom his ex- 
cesses had hurried to the grave, were scenes of too intense 
excitement to the nervous and susceptible nature of Xathan 
Mudge to pass off with the indications of grief common to 
such occasions. 

On the day succeeding the interment, which took place 
in a lot owned by his master at Mount Auburn, he was 
taken ill with a brain fever, and confined to his bed for 
several weeks. During his illness, which, for a few days, 
was very dangerous, he raved, like a lunatic, about his 
mother, whom he seemed to fancy he had sl^n. He was 
attended in his illness by his sister and tlje^amily of Mr; 
Godwin, who had prevailed upon Susan to make his house 
her home, — at least for the present. But most assiduous 
in her attentions — more, if possible, than his sister — was 
the printers beautiful daughter, Kate. She regarded hhi 


84 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OE 


errors far less severely than her aunts, and pitied the 
wretchedness, which he had brought upon himself, more 
acutely than any one less partial had the conscience to 
do. ‘Here,^ she argued, ‘was Thomas, evidently the 
most culpable of the two (but of this she failed to con- 
vince her aunts, for Braxton was a smooth-tongued hypo- 
crite in the house, and had ‘ got on the right side’ of the 
old ladies), who has safely escaped, not only from the 
watchman’s hands on the night of the sleigh-ride, but, as 
far as she could perceive, from all punishment whatever ; 
while Nat, — ^poor Nat I — ^had suffered more, both in mind 
and body, within one short week, than much worse delin- 
quents experienced in a whole lifetime I’ 

Pity, it has been said, is akin to love. However that 
may be, it is an indubitable fact, that, from the period of 
Nathan’s severe sickness, the friendship entertained for 
him by Kate Godwin increased in strength and fervor, 
da1?y. This was accountable in some degree by the fact 
that the wilful girl knew it interfered materially with some 
ideas which her aunts had recently formed of uniting her 
to a young and fashionable ‘ merchant tailor,’ rejoicing in 
the sounding cognomen of Albert Mandeville d’Orsay, and 
presiding over a lucrative clothing shop in School-street. 

When Nathan was sufficiently recovered to resume his 
post at the case again, the fiery ordeal through which he 
had passed^emed to have purged his character of the 
vicious excrest^ces, which had grown upon it under the 
evil fosterage oM^homas Braxton, and made him at once a 
better and wiser man. He associated little with his fellow 
apprentice, beyond what his work rendered necessary ; for 
several months attended to his duties with the exactest 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


85 


fidelity ; resisting every effort of his quondam associates 
to allure him back to the broad road of destruction into 
which he had made so serious an exodus. It is impossible 
to express the satisfaction which this gave to his real 
friends. 

In the meantime, Edwin Fairbanks, having read law at 
the Cambridge school as long as his slender finances would 
allow, (and he would not accept any pecuniary aid from 
others — no, not even from his old employer!) was con- 
tinuing his laborious studies on the most economical plan, 
in the neighborhood of a small village on the Massachu- 
setts coast, where he had some time before, out of his 
savings, purchased a little farm for his father and mother. 

His father had considerably abated his intemperate 
habits, and become sufficiently ashamed of them not to 
drink dpenly, but still indulged in secret — a secret which 
his cross and sudden fits, and strong alcoholic breath too 
palpably betrayed. Had he fully appreciated the extreme 
mortification and unhappiness which this odious habit fre- 
quently occasioned his excellent wife and son, he might, 
perhaps, have put it from him, for he was in the main a 
good-hearted, affectionate man, very industrious when him- 
self, and possessed naturally of mental qualities which, 
had they been cultivated by education, might have entitled 
him to a high rank amongst the intellects of the age. 
His help-mate, who was a cheerful, patient; uncomplain- 
ing woman, tenderly attached to, and in* some measure 
proud of him, never ventured to remonstrate against his 
unfortunate propensity, for she loved a quiet hearth too 
much to draw down upon it the storm of passion which any 
such interference would, she knew, inevitably provoke. But 


86 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

with her many virtues, the good wife possessed that which 
embodied all the rest — ^religion ; and she cherished an 
abiding hope that God would some day hear her prayer, 
and attract her deluded husband from the path of low 
and debasing indulgence into his own happy fold. 0 1 how 
she longed for that blessed time to cornel It wanted but 
this to fill the cup of her contentment full to overflowing. 
Step by step, since the time when he was indentured to 
the benevolent printer, (she might well date the improve- 
ment in their fortunes from that period I) the exertions of 
Edwin had raised them from the abyss of disgrace and 
want into which they had been drawn by the intempe- 
rance of her husband, and at length placed them in a 
situation of respectability and comfort. Her son — ^how 
naturally proud she was of his advancement I — was doing 
as well as she could wish, and better, she felt, than she 
had a right to expect. He was her only child (she had 
■lost four), and he and his father were her sole earthly 
care. Nothing now was wanting to make their happiness 
complete, except her husband's total abstinence from the 
use of intoxicating drink ; for he was naturally of a reli- 
gious cast of mind, and she felt that to destroy the indul- 
gence by which he was disguised, and bring him thoroughly 
to himself, would also bring him back to his God. 

0, Intemperate Husbands I if you knew half the anguish 
of heart which your poor wives suffer uncomplainingly for 
your errors — ^if you could but guess a tithe of the unspeak- 
able joy which reformation would give them, surely yon 
would not persist in the gratification of an appetite so 
utterly selfish! 

Edwin Fairbanks had felt it Ids duty, upon mature do- 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 81 

liberation, to improve the first favorable opportunity after 
he had become domesticated with his father, to remon- 
strate in as delicate and respectful a manner as possible, 
against his secret tippling. The effect was, an exhibition 
of temper on the part of the parent, which rendered the 
temporary absence of the son very desirable to all 
parties. 

At the distance of a mile from his father^s house, on a 
point of land extending into the sea, there stood a dilapi- 
dated and deserted lighthouse. In his wanderings upon 
the sandy beach in more propitious weather, Edwin had 
often ascended to the top of this bleak and solitary build- 
ing, to commune alone with the written thoughts of dead 
sages, and to gaze upon the mighty ocean, the illimitable 
conception of the ever-living God. Upon one of these 
occasions, the idea had occurred to him, that it would be 
pleasant upon the return of the warm weather, to accom- 
plish a portion of his daily study in this picturesque re- 
treat. In looking about him for some other abode thah 
his own home, until his father’s anger should have sub- 
sided, the thought of his intended summer retreat recurred 
to him, and though it was now winter, he determined to 
resort ta the deserted lighthouse for a temporary domicil. 
His mother offered little objection, and before night-faU, 
he had invested the venerable building with a small stock 
of wood, furniture, and provisions, and fairly installed 
himself as the sole occupant of its weather-beaten walls. 
In this isolated refuge, the poor student, who was equally 
pleased with the economy of the arrangement, and the 
undisturbed peace which it afforded him, was not always 
exempt from both hunger and cold. But surrounded by 


88 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

the vast and sublime in nature, and intent upon the pro- 
found and absorbing studies in which both his inclination 
and ambitious views had engaged him, he treated his phy- 
sical wants, if not with stoical indifference, at least with 
philosophical patience. For the most of his food he was 
indebted to the sea, upon which, in a boat of his own con- 
struction, he exercised himself in rowing, and whenever 
he had an opportunity, succoring the distressed mariner. 
After a few days, his father repented of the passion by 
which he had exposed his son to such privations, and his 
pride so succumbed to the dictates of a heart soft and 
tender as a child’s when it was not angered, that he visited 
the student .before the week was out, and, with tears in 
his eyes, solicited him to return to their common fireside. 
Assured by experience, however, that their amity could 
not remain long unruffled under the same roof with the 
mischievous imp of intemperance, alcohol, Edwin persuaded 
his father to suffer him to remain where he was ; a result 
not entirely unsatisfactory to the elder Fairbanks, upon 
whom his presence sometimes imposed a restraint. 

After this slight indication of parental feeling, Mr. 
Fairbanks was content to allow his son to remain in his 
new quarters undisturbed, though, occasionally, of an in- 
clement night, when they heard the rude wind wrestling 
fiercely with their own sturdy little dwelling, he and his 
good wife would draw the coverlid closer to their chins, 
and lay awake sometimes for hours, venting their solici- 
tude for the tenant of the ruined lighthouse. But, unde- 
terred by the discomfort of his situation, the ambitious 
student calmly adhered to his new domicil, until an inci- 
dent occurred, which somewhat interfered with his purpose 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 89 

of seclusion. What this incident amounted to, we shall 
narrate in a subsequent chapter. 


CHAPTER XII. 

The Intrigues of the Wicked Apprentice — The Wretchedness of Susan 
Mudge — The Tailor-Tyrant — ^Advocacy of the Sempstress — Susan 
is Persecuted by aRou4 — Her Illness, and Voyage to the Capes. 

While Edwin Fairbanks was thus passing the time in 
his retirement on the coast, there was a malignant plotter 
in the city, busily planning the ruin of his peace. 

Thomas Braxton, tired of the unfortunate Eunice, to 
whom he had made the most solemn protestations of un- 
alterable love and good faith, had become deeply enamored 
of Susan Mudge, now a member of his master’s family. 
He was aware that she was affianced to Edwin Fairbanks, 
but, stimulated by a double motive of love for her, and an 
insatiable desire to wreak his revenge upon him, he deter- 
mined to do all in his power to dissolve their engagement. 
Diminutive as he was, both in mind and body, and inferior 
in every respect to the man whom he sought to rival, he 
was vain enough to believe that he could supplant him. 
With this object in view, he grew daily more circumspect 
in his association with his master’s family, and though he 
still visited his former haunts, and even some of a more 
infamous character, his dissipation was so artfully concealed, 
that even Xathan did not suspect that he w^as only 
a whited sepulchre. The cunning hypocrite became a 
frequent attendant at evening meetings, to the great edi- 


90 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


fication of the venerable twins. About the same time he 
made a declaration of love to Susan, whom he imagined his 
pretended conversion would soften. He was civilly re- 
pulsed. Not intimidated at this, he redoubled his atten- 
tions. He began to play the despairing lover. For days 
together he lay in bed, disconsolate, refusing to eat the 
food brought to him by the sympathizing . aunts, and ap- 
parently adhering to a rigid fast ; though the fact was, he 
lined” himself pretty weh three or four times per diem, sur- 
reptitiously, with crackers, cheese and cider, a stock of 
which edibles he had previously secreted in his chest. 
When he resumed his place at the family table again, he 
would eat but a few mouthsful, and then, with a look of 
mild reproach at Susan, and an air of the profoundest me- 
lancholy, indicating how valueless were all victuals under 
such circumstances, would walk abstractedly from the 
house. After which successful performance, it was his 
wont to hasten down to Crosby’s cornucopia of eatables in 
Lindall-street, and appease his gastric juice with a chicken- 
pie, or some such trifle. After these extraordinary de- 
monstrations of the sincerity of his attachment, Thomas 
Braxton returned to make another appeal to Susan’s com- 
passion, and hinted darkly that another repulse might pro- 
voke a suicide. Not entirely convinced of the seriousness 
of his folly, Susan yet treated him with considerate kind- 
ness, but at the same time she told him candidly and firmly 
that as her faith was plighted inviolably to Edwin 
Fairbanks (whom, next to Cod, she loved better than 
any being upon earth), the attentions of another were 
worse than useless, — they were in the highest degree dis- 
tasteful. ‘ It is well 1’ said Braxton, bitterly ; and smit- 


THE TH {EE APPRENTICES. 91 

ing his forehead in stage fashion, though with unaffected 
chagrin, he went away to brood over his discomfiture, and 
meditate revenge. 

A frequent caller at the house was the young merchant- 
tailor, D’Orsay. He was the most prominent of several 
aspirants after Kate’s hand. Some beard projecting from 
beneath his chin — a blue beaver-cloth frock coat, with im- 
inense buttons, and any quantity of breasting and pockets 
— gaiter continuations — a heavy rosewood cane — and a 
general air of smartness, constituted Mr. D’Orsay’s tout 
ensemlle, which, it hardly need be added, was that of a very 
fashionable blade. Now, this individual, who was the fa- 
vorite of the aunts, and the detestation of Giles Godwin, 
who abhorred everything like puppyism, piqued at the dis- 
like evident in Kate’s manner towards him, began to 
institute in his own mind some invidious comparisons 
between her personal appearance, and that of Susan Mudge. 
The latter he began to regard with an admiration, which his 
vexation at the other’s neglect induced him, on one or two 
occasions, to render very apparent. This was especially 
the case, during a visit which he made on the evening 
when Braxton was still burning with the last rebuff from 
Susan. Thomas’s quick eye perceived it, and his ready 
brain quickly conceived a plan of turning it to his purpose 
of revenge. Accordingly when the baffled buck took his 
leave, Braxton followed him out, and joined him, with the 
remark that he was walking the same way. After a few 
words upon different topics, the apprentice artfully turned 
the conversation to the merits of Susan Mudge, and in 
proportion as he excited D’Orsay’s admiration for her 
beauty, he diminished his respect for her character. It 


92 NEW ENGLAND BC-YS, OR 

was enough to lower her immeasurably in the narrow 
mind of the merchant-tailor, to ascertain that she was 
only a poor sempstress. He had been so accustomed to 
play the petty tyrant over all whom he encountered of 
that industrial class of which she was a member — a class 
which, like that numerous one employed in book-binderies, 
includes as many respectable ladies and girls, who would 
make useful and exemplary wives, as any other under the 
sun, — that when he heard of her occupation, ‘ it was great 
pity, so it was and he had ‘ not supposed she was so hwP 
‘ She is a jewel worth takin’ out o’ the mud;’ said Brax- 
ton ; ‘ why don’t you do it V 

‘ And make her Mrs. D'OrsayV inquired the tailor, 
with affected accent and i^waffected horror. 

‘ Yes !’ said the apprentice with a chuckle, and squeez- 
ing his companion’s arm, ^for a week P 

‘ What ?’ said D’Orsay, turning to the other excitedly, 
‘you don’t think that could be done, do you? No, no,' 
he continued, his hope subsiding as suddenly as it had 
risen, ‘ I know these sempstresses too well. They are 
virtuous, or they wouldn’t workl’ 

‘P’raps so,’ said Thomas, dubiously ; ‘but this case is 
a horse of another color. The girl’s taken a shine to you. 
That flattery o’ your’n did the business !’ 

‘Ha,^ha, ha I’ said the tailor, laughing with compla- 
cency, ‘ I thought she was rather smitten. I believe I 
have a way with .me ; hey, Braxton? But about this 
girl. How shall I work it, my good fellow ? I would 
ask you in here, at Hilbrook’s, but I think I heard you 
say at Godwin’s that you never drink I’ 

‘ That was all gammon I’ said the apprentice. ‘ I’ll take 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


93 


a snifter of brandy witb yon, and, while we are smoking a 
cigar, tell you how to clinch the nail with the charming 
Sue.’ 

With this, he opened the door of the oyster shop which 
they had now reached, and was followed by D’Orsay into 
one of the stalls, where, after having obtained the pro-- 
posed refreshTnmts — ^fit accessories to such an interview — 
he detailed to the vain and credulous tailor the steps 
which he said were, in his opinion, sure to ensnare the 
sempstress. Now, Thomas Braxton knew, in his own 
heart, that- the hopes with which he inspired D’Orsay 
were hollow and futile. He felt convinced that the vir- 
tue of the excellent girl, whose fair fame he now conspired 
so cowardly to sully, was incorruptible. But he hoped, 
by adroitly managing the cards, to fasten suspicion upon 
her in some minds, and especially in that of her betrothed, 
whose distance from the scene of action would prevent 
him from knowing the whole truth. Accordingly he had 
no sooner parted from H’Orsay, who left his cause, for the 
present, entirely in his hands, with the promise of a suit 
of clothes should he succeed, than he immediately set 
about his fiendish scheme, confident that, result as it 
might, it must, in some measure, tend to his revenge. 
The first, and not the least important requisite, was to in- 
duce her to withdraw herself from beneath the roof where 
there were so many eyes open to her interests. He knew 
of no method more likely to accomplish this desirable end, 
than to continue to annoy her with his suit ; and he deter- 
mined to write her a letter on the subject before he slept. 
In the morning, he handed her this communication. At 
noon he besought her for an answer. In the evening, he 


94 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

waylaid her in the entry with gloomy threats of self-de- 
struction. These persecutions were repeated, and, added 
to a little pique shewn by the aunts on account of the admi- 
ration with which she was evidently regarded by Mr. 
D’Orsay, led her to determine upon seeking a new home. 
It was with the greatest reluctance that Mr. Godwin and 
his daughter parted with her. His sisters, too, who really 
esteemed h^r, solicited her to remain. The excuse which 
she offered, of a desire to live independently of all resour- 
ces save her own, did not seem to them sufficient ; but 
they saw that her resolution was formed, and they knew 
her will well enough not to oppose it. She went to board 
in another quarter of the city. ‘ A part in which, it was 
a remarkable fact,^ said Thomas, with a leer at the twins, 
on the following evening, ‘ the handsome tailor lived T 
The sisters looked very grave. Unfortunately, Susan was 
prevailed upon to accept of work from Mr. D’Orsay, who 
lost no time to bring all his fascinations to bear upon her 
heart. When, in combination with some petty tyrants in 
the trade, he reduced the already insufficient rates of com- 
pensation allowed the poor females, who toiled for him, 
hers was suffered to remain undiminished until she, herself, 
indignantly refused to receive any better pay than the rest. 

He sought to induce her to accept of costly presents, 
which she declined. He paid her impertinent attentions 
— way-laying in the streets, and accompanying her home, 
in spite of her hints, and finally her request, that he would 
cease to do so. At last, he made a declaration of his 
passion, and insinuated an infamous proposal. Fired with 
scorn and indignation, she threatened to report him to her 
friends. Perceiving that he had gone too far, and some- 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


95 


what alarmed, D’Orsay begged her pardon in the most 
piteous terms. She refused to exchange another word 
with him, and banished him from her presence. Besotted 
with his new-born passion, and reckless of consequences. 
D’Orsay still besieged her wherever she went. In addi 
tion to this source of unhappiness, poor Susan had another. 
in the fact that Edwin Fairbanks seemed to have cease 
all correspondence with her. It was now February, an ’ 
she had not heard from him since the latter part of D ' 
cember. He had been accustomed to write every week, 

y 

and she could not surmise the reason of his not continuing 
to do so, for she had heard frequently, through other 
sources, that he was well. A rumor reached her, that he 
was ambitious to unite himself to a rich family in the 
neighborhood of his father’s. Her heart sank within her 
for a moment, after the receipt of this intelligence, but 
upon a little reflection, she believed it impossible that ^ 
Edwin could be so false. 

She had already wi’itten two letters which remained 
unanswered, but she determined to write another, demand- 
ing an explanation of his strange neglect, and offering to 
release him from his engagement. This communication, 
wrung from a distressed heart, and blotted with tears which 
would not be stayed, she delivered as usual to her brother, 
to put into the post-office with the daily budget sent by 
Mr. Godwin. After the lapse of a day or two, she re- 
ceived a few cold lines from Edwin, accepting the release 
which she had tendered him, and intimating that he had a 
right to look higher for a partner in life. Poor Susan 
strained every nerve to bear this cruel blow with proud 
indifference, but the effort required a stoicism which she 


n 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, QR 


did not possess. In society, she rigidly suppressed every 
indication of the grief which corroded her heart, but in 
tlie solitude of her own chamber the unhappy girl aban- 
doned herself to the most poignant sorrow. The loss of 

I her dear mother had borne her to the earth, and only this 

II faithlessness of her lover was wanting to crush her bruised 
hisspirit in the dust. Her health failed her, and day by day 
estthe rose faded from her cheek, until it seemed as if it 
sh never had been any other than pallid and hollow. Her 
c* friends became anxious, and besought her to take the ad- 
" vice of a medical acquaintance, who prescribed change of 
1? scene. Susan deprecated their solicitude, and without 

divulging her hidden grief, protested that she was not ill, 
— only a little out of spirits. However, she consented ta 
accompany Kate upon a visit to some relations of Mr 
Godwin’s, who lived at Cape Ann. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Packets sometimes Perilous — D’Orsay on the Sea — Kate and Susai i 
are Grossly Insulted — The Packet is Wrecked, and the Girls are 
^left to Pe^sh — They are Miraculously Preserved by the Student of 
^ the Lighthouse — An Eclaircissement. 

Everything was arranged for their voyage, and the two 
girls embarked on board a small packet plying between 
Boston and their place of destination. There was but one 
other passenger, and they discovered to their chagrin that 
this was D’Orsay. He expressed great delight at seeing 
them, and professed to be visiting some friends at the Cape. 
Two sailors, besides the master, who was evidently a very 


THE THREE A P P R E T I C E S . 9T 

intemperate man, composed the whole crew. With one of 
these men D’Orsay seemed to be very confidential, and, 
when upon their vessePs being becalmed a little after sun- 
set, some twenty-five miles out, he produced from his trunk 
a box of cigars and a bottle of brandy, it was apparent to 
the young ladies that he was fast becoming the favorite of 
the other two. They pottled until they became talkative, 
and, finally, drunk. The most sober of the party were 
D’Orsay and the man with whom he had been familiar 
from the first. The latter, it was observed with alarm by 
the two ladies (who shared with them the only cabin on 
board), seemed bent on plying the others with as much 
liquor as they could be induced to take. The consequence 
was, th^,t the poor dupes were soon reduced to a state of 
beastly intoxication, and put to bed by their companions. 
Hiccupping an apology for ‘the .brutes who could, under 
any circumstances, so far forget their sense of propriety, 
as to have to be put to bed, dead drunk, in the presence 
of the most beautiful of their sex,^ D’Orsay begged the 
ladies to take a glass of wine and join them in a game of 
whist, which being declined, he took a seat by the side of 
Susan and attempted to take her hand. Concealing her 
alarm as well as she could, she rebuked his impertinence, 
and withdrew to %nother seat. He followed her. The 
spirited little Kate Godwin vented her indignation at his 
rudeness to her friend in no measured terms ; whereupon 
he suggested to the rough fellow, who was about as much 
intoxicated as himself (and whom he called Kalph), that 
he should stop her pretty mouth with kisses, of which it 
was evident she was in pressing want. Adopting the sug- 
gestion, Ralph sat down by the side of the indignant girl, 

5 


98 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

m 

and suddenly encircled her waist with his arm, but, with 
her deep black eyes flashing fire, Kate resisted, with so 
much determination, and used her nails with such effect 
upon the face of her insulter, that he was fain to relax his 
hold of her for a moment ; taking adTantage of which, she 
fled to the other side of the confined cabin, where she was 
in the same moment joined by Susan Mudge, who had just 
escaped from the drunken D’Orsay. Here the indignant 
beauties stood at bay, and a parley ensued. ^ I — I tell 
you, it’s no use to be so mealy-mouthed, girls I’ said the 
tailor, with a hickup. ‘We might as well do all we can 
to make each other comfortable.^ He was again approach- 
ing her, when she bade him, before proceeding in conduct 
BO atrocious, to reflect upon the certainty of the retribu- 
tion, both divine and human, which it would bring upon 
his head. 

In following the suggestions of Braxton, and taking 
passage in the same vessel with the young ladies, it had 
not been D’Orsay’s intention, infatuated as he was by his 
guilty passion, to gratify it by any violence, for he knew 
too well the punishment which any overt act on his part 
would provoke. But now, heated with wine, every dictate 
of prudence deserted him, and he threw all restraints to 
the winds. He laughed at Kate’s tlJeat of her father’s 
vengeance. He scoffed at her passionate flood of tears. 
‘ Come, let us comfort them, Ealph I’ said he. ‘ We waste 
time !’ ‘ Ay, ay, sir !’ said the man, and the next mo- 

ment, in spite of their resistance, the villains hugged the 
girls in their rude embrace. With dishevelled hair, and 
wild shrieks for help, that seemed to wake the very winds 
which had so long been sleeping, the unhappy girls strug- 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


99 


gled with their sensual assailants. At last, the strength 
of despair was given them. They broke away from the 
dastardly ruffians, and fled, all wild with terror, to the 
deck. There, springing upon the side, they bade their 
pursuers not to approach another step, if they would not 
have them leap into the sea, upon which the little vessel 
was now floating as it listed. But other objects now at- 
tracted the attention of B-alph and D’Orsay. Black and 
heavy clouds were fast obscuring the moon, and the 
heavens lowered upon them, as if in terrible displeasure. 
The diabolical outrage, which they had attempted, ap- 
peared to have incensed old Ocean himself, for the waves 
were tossing with his arousing ire. 

Ralph rushed into the cabin to awake the captain and 
his assistant. It was useless. Their debauch had ren- 
dered them almost as lifeless as the dead. Again the ap- 
palled mariner sought the deck, and essayed to manage the 
vessel. He called to his companion in villany to assist 
him ; but in this juncture, D’Orsay was as helpless-as a 
child. His knees tottered beneath him, an awful sickness 
overcame him, and he sank upon the wet deck, perfectly 
palsied. Fully apprised of their danger from the elements, 
the girls left the side, over which every wave had threat- 
ened to bear them to the angry vortex below, and, groping 
their way with the utmost difficulty (for it had now be- 
come very dark, and the fragile bark was tossed about 
like a feather on the sea), descended into the cabin, vith 
a feeling of gratitude for this providential interference be- 
tween them and the evil which it had averted. The wind 
blew harder every moment, and presently Kate Godwin 
and Susan (who had to cling with all their strength to 


100 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

the sides of the cabin, in which every movable was knock- 
ing about at a fearful rate), heard the noise of hail de- 
scending upon the deck. It was evident that the little 
vessel ' was driven helpless before one of the most fearful 
of those storms, which, on this inclement coast, in the early 
part of the year, wreck many a better craft than the poor 
packet. Destruction seemed inevitable. The unfortunate 
females could do nothing but pray, and at the request of 
Catherine, Susan raised her voice in simple but eloquent 
supplication to their common God and Father. Suddenly, 
with a shock which threatened to rive every timber in 
twain, the schooner struck I Oh, what a shriek went up 
from the fated vessel at that moment I ‘ A leak 1 a leak!’ 
The girls rushed in terror to the - deck. Everything was 
shrouded in the deepest black, save where one feeble beam 
struggled through the surrounding gloom, like a ray of 
hope to the despairing. This friendly light appeared to be 
that of a candle in some cot on the coast. They had hard- 
ly reached the deck, when they heard the sound of a boat 
pushing off from the vessel. Then the voices of Ralph and 
D’Orsay, and immediately after, the movement of oars were 
heard, and the unhappy females became aware that the 
villains had left them to perish on the wreck, which was 
now fast upon the rocks ! In this wretched situation, 
freezing with cold, and driven almost to despair despite 
the prayers which they had not ceased to send up to God, 
they still looked to the flickering, solitary light upon the 
coast with something like a gleam of hope. Thus they 
remained, with their starting eyeballs bent upon the 
friendly beam from the shore, until daybreak, when they 
perceived with thankfulness, that the light which they had 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. lOl 

seen, proceeded from an old ruined building, situated on a 
point of land about a mile distant. Almost dead with 
fatigue and exposure, they were using their little strength 
to thank an overruling Providence for this prospect of re- 
lief, when their new-born hope was suddenly prostrated 
by a cry from below, and, immediately after, the appear- 
ance of the captain and his man upon the deck, announcmg 
in wild affright that the cabin was half filled with water, 
and the vessel (which had gradually cleared itself of the 
rock), was sinking 1 Perceiving the absence of Ralph 
and D^Orsay with the boat, the two men raved like 
lunatics for a few moments, then leaped into the sea, and 
swam for the distant shore. For the poor girls there 
seemed not the remotest chance of rescue, when suddenly 
their hearts were filled with joy at descrying a boat put 
out from the base of the ruined building, and make to- 
wards them I It tarried to take in the swimmers. What 
an age seemed the delay to the occupants of the wreck, 
which had now sunk to the water’s edge I Haste, haste, 
sturdy rower, or you will be too late 1 He strains every 
nerve. His efforts seemed superhuman. They need be, 
he would ever reach the wreck. It is useless, — the vessel 
is going down ! ^ Leap into the sea I Leap, for your 

lives I’ cried the rower, in a voice which Susan recognized, 
though she could not distinguish his face. It was that of 
Edwin Fairbanks I Why, she knew not, but all at once, 
her heart was inspired with new confidence, and her ex- 
hausted frame with new vigor. She felt happier at that 
moment, within the very jaws of death, than for months 
before. 

Quickly springing to the side, she lifted the willing 


102 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

Kate, whose failing strength was unequal to her brave 
heart, and with only a slight shudder, leaped with her into 
the sea I Another moment, and the waters had settled 
over all that remained of the deserted schooner. The 
girls were buoyed up by their dresses upon the surface of 
the deep, until after the lapse of a few moments, which 
seemed as many ages to all interested, they were rescued 
from their perilous situation by Edwin. Kate sank in a 
state of utter exhaustion upon her preserver’s cloak, which 
he had spread upon the bottom of the boat. Susan was 
content to rest upon her lover’s manly breast, conscious of 
little else than the beatings of his true heart against her 
own. The men pulled poorly at the oars, for the debauch 
of the previous night had reduced them to a situation 
almost as bad as the ddirium trermns ; but at last the old 
lighthouse was reached, and, one after another, the poor 
student bore his precious waifs into his favorite domicil. 
After bestowing his exhausted guests beside his homely 
hearth, he made a huge and cheerful fire, at which the men 
/Warmed themselves a little, and then departed in quest of 
better refreshments for themselves at the cottage of his 
father, whom he desired them to despatch immediately to 
the lighthouse, with some clothing for the present use of 
. the ladies, and a vehicle in which to convey them to his 
home. His mother came in his father’s stead, and it was 
well that she did so, for his fair guests were never more in 
need of the sympathy and assistance of one of their own 
sex. A short time sufficed to remove the whole party to 
the house of the elder'Fairbanks, where the invalids met 
with such kind and considerate attention, that, on the 
following day, they were completely restored to their 


103 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


former health. Susan Mudge felt much better, indeed, 
for her late sujBferings, Perhaps this was owing, in no 
slight degree, to a certain very interesting tete-a-tetCj which 
took place between her lover and herself, on the evening 
succeeding her miraculous preservation. By this edair- 
dssement it appeared, that the letter which had caused her 
BO much pain was a forgery, and that he had written to 
her several communications which some enemy had inter- 
cepted. The same adversary, too, was probably, he 
thought, the author of the anonymous communication, 
accusing Susan of an improper connection with D'Orsay, 
which he had received some weeks before, and indignantly 
destroyed as unworthy of a feather’s weight against the 
good faith of her in whom he had never — ^no, not for a 
moment — ceased to confide with undoubting assurance of 
her truth. Susan shed someyepentant tears, that she had 
been the first to doubt, but Edwin kissed them away and 
she was happy. Her father having been written to in 
regard to their disaster, preservation, and present comfort, 
the pretty Kate Godwin, whose black eyes and rosy cheeks 
looked, if possible, more beautiful than ever, consented to 
remain a few days in her present quarters, with which 
she was at the end of that time so well pleased, that she 
was easily persuaded to remain some weeks longer. Edwin 
and his parents spared no pains to make their stay agree- 
able. His father even went to the extraordinary length 
of entirely abandoning all potations, public and private ! 
There never was such a happy household as it had now 
become I After a stay of some five or six weeks, Kate 
Godwin tore herself away from this joyous circle, and 
leaving Susan in the charge of Mrs, Fairbanks, who, with 


t 


104 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


jocular peremptoriness, had laid her commands upon her 
intended daughter-in-law to remain a month longer at least, 
departed for Boston. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

Plot upon Plot — ^Nathan is again led astray by Braxton — Edwin 
Fairbanks is accused of a Crime — His Accuser Recants — Braxton 
is compelled to wed Eunice — Nat Elopes with Kate Godwin — 
— Becomes a Drunkard — Is Brought before the Police, along with 
his Companion — Braxton is sent to the House of Correction. 

While the troubled tide of affairs was taking so plea- 
sant a turn in the vicinity of the old lighthouse, there 
was one person in the little circle around Giles Godwin’s 
fireside, who, while his pliant face was wreathed in con- 
gratulating smiles, yet brooded bitterly over the revenge- 
ful feelings which, like flaming coals, were cauterizing his 
heart, and goading him to madness. Thomas Bjaxton saw 
all his schemes of revenge, thus far, defeated, and his baffled 
rage could not sleep upon it, for he was one of those who 
never forgive. He it was, who, having the charge of taking 
the letters of his master (to whose care those of Susan 
Mudge were always directed), to and from the post-offlce, 
had intercepted the lovers’ communications ; his hand had 
penned the mischievous forgery ; and to him, as we have 
said, it was owing that D’Orsay — ^now supposed to have 
been drowned — ^had taken passage in the ill-fated packet. 

All these means of vengeance failing him, he racked 
his devilish brain to devise some torture for the lovers^ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 105 

which should exceed in malignity even that which he 
had previously designed. He determined, first and fore- 
most, to devote every wile in his power to seduce the 
easy Hathan back to his former haunts of dissipation 
He succeeded ! The poor dupe depended upon his judg- 
ment to drink with moderation. He leaned upon a rotten 
staff — ^it broke, and he fell ! When Kate returned to her 
father’s, IS'athan had again embarked upon the deceitful 
tide which was to overwhelm him, and over whose smooth 
waves he was guided by the treacherous pilot, who, with 
his remorseless eye steadily fixed upon his destruction, 
steered for the ruthless rocks on which he was -so soon to 
wreck. This relapse of her lover was not known to Kate 
for some time after, but immediately ^upon her arrival 
home she found the family much distressed by a circum- 
stance which, like Kathan’s dereliction, was owing to 
Thomas Braxton, though in this, as in the other, he had 
craftily managed to conceal his agency. The fact to which 
we allude, bowed their faithful old servant-woman, Scam- 
mons, to the earth with grief and mortification. The 
unfortunate Eunice could no longer conceal the fact that 
she was about to become a mother I Cross-questioned at 
a consultation held by her sorrowful aunt with the sisters 
and mother of Mr. Godwin, she astounded them with a 
disgraceful charge agaiust Edwin Fairbanks ! * * * * 

In the pains of travail, and at the point of death, a short 
time afterwards, the girl confessed, with much contrition, 
that her accusation against Edwin was wholly untrue, and 
that she had been incited to it by Thomas Braxton, who 
she solemnly affirmed was her betrayer, and the father of 
her child. This denodiment afforded some relief to all but 


5 * 


106 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

the baffled apprentice. Disguising his rage, and profess* 
ing the utmost penitence, Braxton expressed his willing- 
ness to do all in his power while she yet lived to repair 
the wi’ong he had done the dying woman. Accordingly, 
the erring couple were immediately married. Contrary 
to every expectation, and greatly to Braxton’s discomfi- 
ture, his new wife gave birth to a healthy infant, and soon 
recovered. His time was now out with Giles Godwin, 
and cursing his evil stars, he obtained employment in a 
neighboring office, and took his young wife and child to 
other lodgings. 

Ko longer companions in business, Nathan Mudge and 
Thomas Braxton were not, on that account, any the less 
frequently together in dissipation. With the cool deter- 
mination of studious villany, the latter removed every im- 
pediment which might have led his victim again to retrace 
the fatal steps which he was now taking. At his sugges- 
tion, Nathan pressed his suit for the hand of Kate, whose 
passionate affection he reciprocated with an ardor inflamed 
to excess by the potations which heated his blood, and 
blinded his better judgment. He was respectfully but 
firmly refused by Giles, who felt that the union of his only 
child to one more rash than herself, was hardly com- 
patible with his duty. The aunts treated the suitor with 
absolute harshness, and they gave both him and their im- 
patient niece to understand that never, under any circum- 
stances, could their union take place. The consequence 
of this peremptory bearing on the part of her relatives, 
was, that Kate Godwin, ever wilful and headstrong, 
listened to the proposals of her reckless lover (who, as 
usual, was prompted by Braxton), and accompanied him 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 107 

clandestinely to Rhode Island, where they were privately 
married. Language is inadequate to describe the pain 
which this egregious folly occasioned her relatives. Pen 
cannot picture the misery of her father. He did not curse 
his ungrateful daughter — he even pardoned her — ^but in 
answer to the letter which she wrote upon her return to 
the city with her husband, asking his forgiveness, he wrote 
to her, that he could not see her again. * She had de- 
serted him in his old age — rashly severed the tie which 
united them, and linked her fate with another. Upon her 
new protector alone, and not to him, she must look for 
society and support.^ 

Kate wept over her father’s letter, and in after days — 
her days of trial and misery — ^it was often moistened with 
bitter tears of repentance and regret. For a few short 
weeks she was quite happy with her husband ; but oh I 
how her heart sickened within her, when she saw him 
stagger into their new home one night, about a month 
after their marriage, so intoxicated that he could hardly 
stand I After a time, this became a regular occurrence. 
On such occasions, Kathan Mudge never treated his wife 
with harsh words. In justice to him, it must be said, 
that, however drunk he might be, he always preserved his 
merry humor. Braxton now attempted to carry into exe- 
cution a piece of villany which he had long premeditated. 
This was the seduction of his friend’s wife. Poor and dis- 
tressed as she was, Kate repelled the fiend’s advances 
with indignation, and would have exposed him to her 
husband, had she not been deterred by threats against 
^ Kathan’s life. Better had it been for poor Eunice if she 
had died before marrying tl^ie dissolute and abandoned 


108 new ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

wretcli wliom she now called husband ! With him blows 
and beggary became her portion. Her infant — the off- 
spring of her repented sin — was her only consolation. It 
was now some five months old, and would have been a 
pretty child, if hunger and cold had not rendered it pale 
and emaciated. Like his treacherous friend, Nathan was 
soon reduced, by his intemperance, to idleness and desti- 
tution. All the efforts of his sister and friends could not 
reclaim the infatuated man. He was now discarded from 
the dissipated circles of which he had once been ‘ iJiA life.^ 
His former companions, dissolute as they were, became 
ashamed of his presence. To quote the language used 
in one of. the graphic recitals of the eloquent lecturer, 
Mr. Gough, ‘ he got drunk too soon 1’ Even his afflicted 
wife, at last despairing of his reformation, at the solicita- 
tions of her relations, went to live once more beneath her 
father’s roof. The sliding scale of the sot is gradual at 
the commencement only. The impetus once given, it is 
swift and certain. Nathan Mudge became a lounger at 
the lowest rum-drinking resorts, where, to obtain a dram, 
he would sing vile songs, play the buffoon, and submit to 
any degradation. Bloated, ragged, and dirty, Braxton 
and Mudge were one day dragged to the police court, 
followed by a crowd of idle boys, whooping at the spec- 
tacle. They were both convicted as common drunkards I 
Braxton was sent for three months to the house of cor- 
rection, and Nathan would have shared the same fate had 
not his friends promised the judge that he should not be 
seen in the city again for as long a term at least, as, other- 
wise, he would have been sentenced. The next day, the 
* common drunkard' embarked his fortunes in an humble 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 109 

capacity, with a miserable travelling circus company, and 
started on a tour through the country. * ♦ * ♦ 


CHAPTER XY. 

Braxton the House-breaker, and his Dupe— Nat involves himself in 
a Capital Crime — Thomas fires the house of Giles Godwin — ^Eunice 
and her Child Perish in the Flames — Braxton Escapes, and Easy 
Nat is Arrested as the Incendiary. 

After the lapse of four or five months, very late one 
dark night in March, — a little more than a year subse- 
quent to the shipwreck narrated in another chapter — a 
man climbed the fence in the rear of Giles Godwin's house, 
and entering the yard, stealthily reconnoitred the premises. 
After a minute or two had passed in this way, he unbolted 
the gate, and addressing the other as * Brax,' bade him 
come in. The man entered, and fkulking into the wood- 
shed, opened a dark lantern, and told the other, in a harsh, 
unpleasant whisper, to apply a match to the wick. The 
other did so, and the light, falling full upon him, betrayed 
the disfigured face of the inebriate, Nathan Mudge. It 
would appear, from some expressions thrown out by 
Braxton, as they stood consulting and cowering beneath 
the shed, that his wife, the wretched Eunice, with her 
child, had recently sought refuge from his brutality be- 
neath the roof upon which he was now frowning and im- 
precating curses. * Give me the lantern. Smudge I Do 
you stand at the gate and watch that the coast is clear. 


110 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OB 

Here, take a pull at the bottle I The night is cold I 

added he, with one of the many curses with which, like 
many other smart men and villains, he sprinkled his voca- 
bulary/ Both drank. ^ Take this pistol, and if any one 
attempts to stop me as I come out, shoot him down I I 
know every room in the house, and can soon find that brat 
of mine!' ‘ You're only to get your child I s'pose,Brax ?' 
said Nat in a faltering voice. ‘ That is all 1 Only my 
child 1' replied Braxton, and then added in a low, husky 
tone, which escaped his companion, ‘ for revenge is the only 
child I cherish I It has hungered all its days, but now it 
shall feed till it is gorged I' And breathing blasphemies 
and maledictions, he raised a window and entered the 
house. After his companion had left him at the gate, the 
reflections of Nathan Mudge were of no enviable nature. 
In what strong contrast was his present felonious position 
with that in which he had once stood to that house 1 He 
could not but think tenderly of one of its inmates, and feel 
the acutest remorse for the pain which she had suffered 
for his sake. He wondered if she ever gave a thought, 
now, to her poor, degraded husband. The tears were 
trickling down his haggard face, when he was hastily joined 
by Braxton. ‘ We must run away from here as fast as we 
can if we would save our necks I You go one way and 
I'll go another ! Quick I' ‘ Where is your child ?' in- 
quired Nathan, distrustfully. ‘ You shall see presently P 
replied Braxton, with ^ a short fierce laugh, and fled down 
the narrow lane into which the yard opened. Oppressed 
with an indefinable sense of some new horror in prospec- 
tive, Nathan walked rapidly away in another direction, 
but not unobserved : a timorous watchman standing in the 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. Ill 

shadow of a door-way, peered into his face as he passed ; 
and he had proceeded but a short distance when he heard 
the cry of ‘ Fire P and a sharp clamor of the Charley^s 
rattle. Immediately after, a broad glare of light so illu- 
minated his path that he was glad to step into a door-way 
to avoid observation. The single voice and rattle which 
had first sounded were soon augmented by a dozen others, 
and the increasing brilliancy of the confiagration, extended 
the alarm in a few minutes to every part of the city. 
After a short space, bells were pealing, engines rumbling 
over the pavements, and hundreds of men and boys hurry- 
ing to the scene of the conflagration. At last Nathan 
Mudge ventured to join the passing crowd, and, with a 
chilling presentiment of evil^ suffered himself to be borne 
along with the rest. His worst misgivings were confirmed. 
The quaint and venerable structure which had been the 
home of Giles Godwin and his ancestors for more than two 
centuries, was enveloped in flames I Composed of the 
most combustible materials, it was already half consumed 
by the raging element. The efforts of the firemen seemed 
only to increase its fury. Suddenly there arose a sound 
which paralyzed the already appalled heart of the tremb- 
ling drunkard. ‘ My daughter ! save my daughter P A 
dreadful cry followed from two or three females in the 
crowd. Several firemen rushed into the flames with the 
intention of ascending the tottering stairway, but were 
driven back, scorched and fainting with the intensity of • 
the heat. Giles Godwin would himself have attempted 
to rescue his child, but he was held by main force. There 
arose shriek after shriek from the midst of the flames ! 
*God strengthen me ! That is my wife’s voice ! I can but 


112 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

dk with her !’ cried Nathan Mudge in his own heart ; and 
breaking through the crowd, he dashed headlong into the 
fiery ruin ! The staircase, now almost reduced to coal, 
crumbled beneath him at every step ; the flames assailed 
him on every side ; the fervent heat seared his very eye- 
balls ; but, blinded as he was, he sprang over the burning 
chasm, avoiding falling timbers almost intuitively, and 
literally leaped rather than ran, to the upper and more in- 
terior part of the building, where the chamber usually oc- 
cupied by Kate, prior to her marriage, was situated. To 
his surprise, the door was locked on the outside ! Quick as 
thought he turned the key and entered. Overcome by the 
heat, his wife had sunk upon the floor, in the same disha- 
hitle in which she had risen from her bed. He seized her 
in his arms, and was leaving the room which was now filled 
with smoke, when he heard his name called in a tone which 
pierced his heart. But he could not tarry to save others 
now. He only thought of the preservation of Kate, his 
wife ; and with this one idea nerving him to more than 
human endurance, and this precious burden pressed to his 
bosom, he turned to retrace his steps. Kor a moment he 
gazed upon the fiery havoc in his path, he was appalled 
with the hopelessness of his task. It was but for a mo- 
ment. Murmuring again, ‘We can but die together, 
Kate !’ he pressed his lips to those of his insensible wife, 
and dashed resolutely forward over the burning rafters. 
The little portion of the staircase still remaining, shook, as 
with an ague, beneath his feet. The assembled thousands 
watched his descent in awful silence. He stumbled I A 
half-suppressed cry of horror arose from the multitude. 
He rose again, uninjured. Between the foot of the stairs 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 113 

and the street there was a yawning chasm, exposing the 
cellar, which was now like a vast furnace of glowing eoals. 
It seemed impossible for him to pass it. He hesitated, 
and turned back. It was but to ascend a step higher, for 
a better leap. See I with one tremendous bound he 
vaulted over the chasm, placed Kate in her father’s arms, 
and disappeared in the crowd, before he was recognized, 
or they had done shouting-, ‘ She is saved P Again he 
heard his name called in piercing accents from the falling 
ruin, but, without pausing, he was hurrying away to 
escape the attention of the multitude ere it was distracted 
from some new object by which it seemed rooted, when he 
was suddenly arrested by a person whom he was in the act 
of passing. It was Tom Braxton. ‘ I promised that you 
should see my child P he whispered, in fierce glee, to 
Kathan ; and pointing with a fiendish smile at the top of 
the burning pile, ‘ you may see wife and child I’ I^athan’s 
eyes turned in the direction indicated, and there, in the 
little cupola or observatory, which now appeared ready to 
sink through the blazing roof, he beheld with unutterable 
horror, Eunice Braxton, — her hair dishevelled, and her 
person but half clothed — ^walking wildly, with her child in 
her arms, from side to side of the dreadful prison to which 
she had been driven by the ascending flames, and shriek- 
ing to the impotent multitude to save her I ‘ Isn’t that a 
brave sight, Nat V whispered the fiend. ‘ You have 
spoiled half the fun ; but no matter I I only wish that 
that new-fledged counsellor-at-law, pious Ed. Fairbanks 
was there ! I thought he was. Ha ! It’s tumbling I 
Now — now — now ! — one more such lurch, and good night 
to my wife, the I See her hold out her hands I It 


114 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR^ 

is going I — It is gone 1 and so am 1 1’ A cry of horror 
ascended from the thronging thousands, as, deprived of its 
last support, the cupola tottered, and, with its miserable 
inmates — Eunice and her child — was precipitated to the 
abyss of flames and glowing coals beneath I ‘ Old 
Godwin will have to find a new hole to burrow in, and be 

to him r ‘ Seize this fiend 1^ cried the indignant 

Nathan ; ‘ he is the incendiary 1’ ‘ Yes — ^yes 1 Here he 

is r shouted Braxton, laying hold of his astonished com- 
panion. ‘ Seize him, or he will escape P Several by- 
standers laid violent hands upon Nathan, who stood petri- 
fied ; and, in the excitement, Braxton mixed, unheeded 
with the infuriated throng, which, hooting and reviling, 
followed his victim to the Leveret-street jail. When he 
had seen Mudge safely incarcerated, the treacherous vil- 
lain wended his steps to one of the filthiest of those infam- 
ous resorts which give to a portion of Ann-street the ap- 
pellation of the ‘ Black Sea,^ and passed the remainder of 
the night in riot and debauchery. 


CHAPTER XYI. 

Nathan Mudge is arraigned for Arson — The fury of the multitude 
against him— He is Defended by the New Pleader, Edwin Fair- 
banks— The Verdict !— The Fire-raiser in the Gallery— The Dis- 
covery — His Flight. 

A MONTH passed. ****** The Supreme 
Court was filled to overflowing. Beyond the railing were 
the excited populace, murmuring in hoarse whispers, which 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 115 

the police could not suppress, for the conviction of a per- 
son in the prisoner’s box, at whom they darted fierce looks 
of hate and indignation, as if they would anticipate the 
legal executioner, and kill him with their eyes. The object 
of their wrath and loathing was Nathan Mudge — now 
arraigned for arson, and on trial for life I He was pale 
and emaciated, but his dress was tidy, and his appearance, 
generally, much better than it had been for a great while 
before. His eyes would occasionally wander from judge 
and jury, lawyers and witnesses, to a distant corner, 
where, accompanied by the two aunts, sat his weeping 
wife and sister. At such times, scalding tears would 
obscure his vision, and he could hardly persuade himself 
but that it was some appalling dream. Everything was 
confused to him, until a man, with more wisdom on his 
broad, fair brow, and sedate countenance, than could have 
been expected of his years, which were evidently few, 
arose in his behalf. This person was the new counsellor- 
at-law, Edwin Fairbanks, who conducted the defence, 
assisted by Giles Godwin, and an old lawyer, celebrated 
for his ability at details. Great interest was manifested 
by his brethren of the bar, and a clique of carping legal 
coxcombs (who had dubbed him with the prefix of ^ Light • 
house^), to witness the success of the tyro, who had under- 
taken so important and desperate a cause for his dehit in 
the profession. Every eye was bent on Edwin, and every 
ear drank in his words. His manner was simple and unas- 
suming, yet firm and eloquent. He narrated the history 
of Mr. Godwin’s three apprentices — of whom he had been 
one — alluding as little as possible to himself, but dwelling 
upon the contrast between the simple, affectionate, and 


116 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

confiding nature for which the prisoner was always dis- 
tinguished, and the evil passions, insincerity, cruelty, pre- 
cocious depravity, and early want of every good principle, 
evinced in the life of Thomas Braxton. He then recapi- 
tulated the evidence which went to prove the abiding hate 
which had existed in the bosom of the latter against seve- 
ral inmates of Giles Godwin^s residence for a long period, 
and especially at the time of the disastrous conflagration ; 
and showed that the prisoner could not have been actu- 
ated by the same feelings — a fact corroborated by his dar- 
ing and successful effort to preserve his wife. ‘ He had 
been challenged to prove the identity of the prisoner with 
the person who had performed that perilous feat. He 
would frankly confess that he had no evidence of the fact 
but the inadmissible testimony of the prisoner himself. 
But, if he did not do it, who did 7 Where was the real 
preserver? Was the deed so unworthy that no one but 
an unfortunate man, arraigned on the charge of having 
committed a crime, at the mention of which the flesh 
crept with horror, would confess it as his own ? One 
inmate of the room occupied by Eunice and her child, had 
testified that the chamber was locked on the outside. 
Who could have done this — ^who could have proceeded so 
coolly to lay the train, and apply the infernal match, but 
the remorseless villain, Braxton ? He had suddenly dis- 
appeared. If he were guiltless, why was he not to be 
found V The attorney on the part of the government 
admitted that, the defence was able, and every way worthy 
of an older head ; but he warned the jurors, who were 
evidently deeply impressed with Edwin’s stirring appeal 
not to allow eloquence and feeling to outweigh sober facts. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. lit 

• The crime of arson had become fearfully frequent of late, 
and as the detection of incendiaries was an exceedingly 
rare and difficult matter, it was of vital importance that 
they should not escape when so clearly within the clutches 
of justice as in the present case. Then he brought before 
them an array of presumptive proofs which, he regretted 
to say, formed altogether as strong and complete a chain 
of circumstantial evidence, as he had ever met with in 
the course of his professional experience. 

There was a heart-felt sympathy throughout the audience 
for the prisoner, and a deep anxiety to hear the Chief Jus- 
tice’s charge to the J ury. The associate judges on either 
side of him — one, a man much his senior, with tremulous 
hand, long furrowed face, and hair bleached to snowy 
whiteness (rather prematurely, perhaps, by a life in the 
badly ventilated atmosphere of the court-room), the 
other a round-faced man, at about the meridian of life, 
with gold bowed spectacles, and faultless linen and apparel, 
— ^inclined their heads to him for a few moments, and made 
a remark or two, inaudible to the eager-eared reporters 
of the press, some half-dozen of which useful body of very 
hard-working and poorly compensated sons of genius sat 
at a form, at the left of the dock, scratching away upon 
long narrow strips of paper, with one eye upon their work, 
and the other sharply scanning the countenance of the 
prisoner for any indications worthy of incidental notice. 
A rosy faced, happy-eyed lad came in just then, cap in 
hand, and went up to the reporter’s desk. He wore no 
' jacket ; his shirt-sleeves were rolled up, and his panta- 
loons were held up by a piece of stout twine crossing liis 
back and breast, and tied to a single button in front and 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


ll8 

another behind. Sundry smooches of ink upon his shirt 
and hands indicated the printer boy. 

‘More copy, English said one of the stenographers, 
laughing. 

‘Wait a minute, boy,’ rejoined the reporter addressed, 
and accelerating the already rapid pace of his pen, he 
commenced a new paragraph with the words : 

‘ The Chief Justice, at half-past four, p.m., charged the 
jury. Intense interest is manifested throughout the 
Court-room. All eyes are upon the bench.’ 

But the reporter’s last words were not true of one per- 
son at least, and that was the young man whose life was 
now at stake. When the printer’s lad was told to wait, 
he leaned against the prisoner’s dock (a sort of isolated 
pew), and cast his regards, like the rest, upon the corpu- 
lent, heavy-browed, brown-haired, broad-foreheaded man 
of fifty, who, with his large, square chin, almost touching 
his notes upon the bench at which he sat, was looking 
over his spectacles at the jury in the forms at a little dis- 
tance on the left, and in a deliberate, cool, argumentative 
manner reviewing the testimony. He was our beau-ideal 
of a wise and impartial judge, yet his allusions to testi- 
mony, militating with dreadful power against the prisoner, 
were painfully frequent. The heart of Edwin Fairbanks 
sank within him, for he could not deny the force of these 
points, and into the torn heart of one poor woman pre. 
sent they fell like scathing shafts of iron. They had a 
painful emphasis for almost every ear but Nathan’s. He 
heard them not I Other, and far more tender, yet no less 
painful, words, were ringing in his ear ; words long since 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


119 


uttered, and by lips long ago assimilated with their native 
dust ; words which had haunted him, at times, in the 
scenes of dissipation and vice in which, for years, he had 
rioted like the prodigal son ; and now all at once, as a 
flood, they rushed back upon him, like the deep waters, 
overwhelming his soul. For some minutes previous, the 
entire scene had been a blank to him . He had noticed 
nothing, and if he appreciated the place at all, it was only 
to feel like a spectator, without any interest in the matter 
pending. The appearance of the sky through the high- 
vaulted windows, the protean forms of yonder cloud, even 
the large brass buttons on the SheriflTs coat — these, and 
similar irrelevant and trivial matters, occupied all the 
attention he gave to external objects ; but he could hardly 
be said either to be seeing or thinking of anything, when 
suddenly his half vacant gaze fell upon the round, rosy, 
dimpled face of the lad who was waiting for ‘ copy.’ His 
eyes became clearer and more intelligent as he looked, and 
regarding the boy tenderly, he thought upon his former 
self, and groaned in spirit, ^^Easy Nat!’^ His mind re- 
verted to ‘ the old time’ when he, too, was hke that youth, 
— a printer’s boy, full of hfe, and hope, and health, and 
joy that had no sin in it. ‘ But, 0 how changed I’ And 
then he thought of his poor mother, and, those words — 
those words — (how they rung in his heart I) uttered upon 
her death-bed. These, and not the judge’s ominous notes, 
not one syllable of which he heard, moved him far more 
deeply than was evident to observers, but the reporters 
made a note of it, and the boy seeing his agitated coun- 
tenance, turned upon him, shuddered as if there were peril 
in his very look, and was glad to take the now completed 


120 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


paragraph, and pass through a crowd of lawyers and offi- 
cials, into the free air of heaven. Poor Nathan, whose 
eyes had been fixed upon the lad, observed the recoil, and 
it cut him to the quick. A crowd of remembrances, the 
ghosts of early joys, childhood scenes, and privileges and 
benefits abused, came rushing back tumultuously upon 
his heart : — and then the life he had led I — led in disregard 
of his mother’s teachings (his kind mother, his good 
mother, whom he had killed by his disobedience) — ^led, in 
defiance of conscience and all moral restraints — ^led, to 
the sacrifice of the happiness of his beloved Kate — ^led, in 
violation of the commands of God — that God who had 
been so kind to him, and patient and long-suffering I 
How long a time had passed since he ceased to say^ 
‘ Our Father who art in Heaven /’ It was a marvel, he 
thought, that God had suffered him to live so long. His 
sin appeared odious to him, and he was overwhelmed with 
a sense of his base ingratitude to«his Creator. In this 
frame of mind he continued throughout the judge’s charge, 
and until it went to the jury. After the twelve sombre- 
looking jurors, preceded by a very tall, saturnine, snuff- 
colored constable, with his long neck enveloped in several 
bandana handkerchiefs, had retired to the apartments 
allotted to them for their deliberations, the reporters and 
many of the lawyers repaired hastily to an adjacent ‘ re- 
fectory’ to get a drink ; but the most of the audience, 
who were crowded and jammed into a small gallery, and 
in the lobby on the lower floor, could not be induced, 
either by hunger or drought, or fatigue, or by all com- 
bined, to relinquish their chance of hearing the verdict. 
The judges went into their ante-room. Two or three 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


121 


knots of lawyers, and some of those privileged members of 
society who seem to have a * season ticket’ to all places, 
were within the bar, discussing the merits of the plead- 
ings and the judge’s charge, and the probabilities as to a 
verdict. The sheriff, at his desk, behind the white wand, 
improved the time in filling up some blank writs, and one 
or two officers had as much as they could do to keep the 
herring-packed people in the gallery from loud talking and 
angry expostulation with each other on the score of 
crowding. 

Meanwhile, the venerable Giles Godwin and Edwin 
Fairbanks shook hands somewhat sorrowfully with poor 
Nat, and essayed to cheer up his spirits, which they saw 
were greatly depressed. Susan Fairbanks had a painful 
duty to suppress her own emotions, and restrain the un- 
happy Kate, her brother’s wife, from going forward, also, 
to caress him and protest his innocence. 

But none of them understood rightly the cause of his 
dejection. 

‘ His honor’s charge to the jury,’ said Mr. Fairbanks, 
glancing furtively at Nathan, * was regarded by some pre- 
sent as less favorable than the obvious impression of the 
jurors themselves.’ 

‘My poor boy,’ added Giles, his little half-shut eyes 
quite full of tears, ‘ the recapitulation of those dangerous 
points of presumptive proof, innocent though you are, have 
sunk you in despair I’ 

‘ The Judge’s charge V said Nathan ; ‘ I did not hear 
one word of it. I have been full — 0 how full I — of the 
charges made by my own conscience. I have heard noth- 
ing else for the last hour.’ 


6 


122 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


* Is it possible V exclaimed Edwin. 

‘ You are not guilty V said Giles looking up in wonder. 
‘ Not guilty of the dreadful crime for which I am now 
upon trial before this human tribnnal. No I before God 
. and man, no I Not guilty of this. But at the bar of God, 
what have I not to answer for V 
‘ Bless thee, my dear lad !’ said Giles, and was about 
to add a consoling word, but Nat interrupted him — 

^ Bless me ? Curse me, rather, my kind old master I 
Have I not brought misery and disgrace into your family? 
Look at Jwr P he continued, casting his eyes towards Kate, 
who sat pale and haggard, with her eyes fixed upon the 
door through which the jury were to return ; ‘ at that 
dear angel whom I once dared to call my own — ^my own 
dear wife I See to what I have brought her I And my 
poor Sue ! What a fool, what a wretch, what a villain I 
have been . 

‘ My poor Nathan,^ said the old man compassionately, 

* you were led astray, but — ’ 

‘ Blame no one but myself, for no one but myself is to 
blame 1 Bid you say that the case had gone to the jury, 
Mr. Fairbanks V 

‘ Yes, and my fear is that they will return but too soon,' 
replied Edward, sorrowfully. 

' Do you think so V said Nathan, comprehending his 
meaning ; ‘ it is a terrible crime to have afl&xed to a man, 
and enough to make him hated by all as long as he lives, 
and to have his memory accursed to all generations ! Still 
it is God’s just wrath, and I have no right to murmur I 
You, at least, believe that I am innocent 1 You and 
Susan, and my poor, poor wife I' 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 123 

* All of us, my dear boy I’ replied Mr. Godwin ; * we 
all know that you are innocent. Ah, here comes the 
jurors. Now cheer up, my lad, andjrust in God.^ Nathan 
pressed their extended hands as they left him, and saying 
to himself, * Trust in God I I have lived all my life opposed 
to Him ; how can I hope that he will help me in this ex- 
tremity V sank back into his seat. The judges had re- 
sumed their places. 

If the first juror had seen the prisoner’s wife standing 
and leaning forward a little, with her hands clasped, and 
her deep, full black eyes fixed upon his countenance, it 
might have added to the pain he already felt. None of 
our little party of friends could boast of any color at that 
moment. All was expectation, and there was a weight 
upon almost every heart. 

When order was obtained, a death-like silence prevail- 
ed. With the customary form, the question was put to 
the foreman : — 

* What say you, Mr. Foreman ? Guilty, or-not Guilty?’ 

Moments seem hours at such times, but the foreman 

soon responded : 

* Guilty P 

With a loud, shrill shriek, sending the blood back with 
a chill to every heart, poor Kate fell prostrate, as rigid as 
the marble pavement itself. In another moment the con- 
victed felon had rushed to her, and held her in his arms. 
Then followed a wild laugh of derision, half shout and half 
laughter, from a ruffian in the gallery. 

‘ Tom Braxton P cried Nathan. ‘ Tliat was his voice I 
Pursue him, Edwin. For your life pursue him ! Quick, 
or he will escape 1’ As speedily as possible, for the press 


x24 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

of people was overwhelming, and all was confusion, Edwin 
Fairbanks made his way out of the court-room into the 
hall which communicated with the gallery. Already there 
was a stampede down the stairs, for there was a cry that 
the prisoner had leaped from the dock, and escaped. — • 
Which of these was Braxton ? Edwin saw four or five 
persons running down the avenue opposite, and, scarcely 
knowing what was his best course to take, he followed 
these with all the speed he could. 


CHAPTER XYII. 

The Pursuit — Dock-square and Ann-street — Pursuer at Fault — The 
Suspicious Fisherman — An Eccentric, well known Character, In- 
troduced — Scene in an Ann-street Auction Eoom — The Acciden- 
tal Detection — The Seizure Unsuccessful. 

Passing rapidly to Cornhill, and down to Dock-square, 
the persons whom Edwin followed, without appearing to 
pursue them, suddenly separated, and each taking a 
different course — an easy matter where so many 
streets and lanes diverged from one radius — com- 
pelled him to pause and hesitate a moment. Some inward 
monition led him to regard these persons with suspicion, 
he scarce knew why, and it was not diminished by their 
last movement. But, though possibly one of them might 
be Braxton, which one was it ? 

Some weeks before, he had instituted, a search for the 
villain, and offered the police of the principal cities North 
and South, a handsome sum for his arrest — for both by 
Nat’s allegations, and his own idea of the probabilities, he 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 125 

felt entirely assured that his former fellow-apprentice, the 
dissolute and depraved husband of poor Eunice, was the 
incendiary, who had, with demoniacal malignity, set fire 
to the house in which she perished. If the search had been 
limited to Boston it might have been successful ; but it 
was much more thorough in New York and Philadelphia, 
under the mistaken impression that as a matter of course 
he would flee from the scene of impending punishment. 
But in spite of his sottish habits, Tom Braxton was a 
crafty knave, and concluded rightly that it would be safer 
for him to remain where he was. The search had been 
fruitless, and secure under a well maintained disguise (the 
relics of his theatrical experience), and a change of name, 
he had thus far escaped the surveillance of the pohce, in 
those days not so numerous and so well organized as at 
present. Edwin asked himself, as he gazed after one of 
the men, who had taken a course by Faneuil Hall, towards 
an adjacent narrow street of notoriously badj-epute, if he 
should be likely to recognize Braxton even if he should be 
so fortunate as to get a sight at him. Time, imprison- 
ment, and his debauches might have altered his appearance 
materially. 

Something (it would have puzzled him to define what), 
induced the young lawyer to decide to follow the man whose 
hurried footsteps past the * Cradle of Liberty,^ his eyes had 
accompanied. Every man has some peculiarity of carriage 
or gait, of which he cannot always divest himself so easily 
as he can of his clothing and complexion. Perhaps it was 
this which made the walk of the Cape Cod fisherman-like 
person before him appear familiar tO Edwin Fairbanks, as 
with an occasional glance behind him the individual hurried 


126 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

over the narrow footpath of the very narrow street, which 
in good old colony times, had been named in honor of 
Queen Ann. If all the good Queen’s ways were as devious 
as that street was crooked, at the date of this story, she 
would have been a perfect Jesuit. And contracted as was 
the pavement in width, the old, quaint, lit tie- windowed 
wooden dwellings and shops on either side begrudged it 
the space it had, and above the first story, overhung it — 
threatening to render it a tunnel or covered way, by leaning 
forward and joining issue at the eaves. The pavement of 
cobble stones was covered with black mud, from which 
arose dock-like exhalations. There were indications, too, 
that the tide overflowed the miserable cellars, but still 
more unmistakable evidences that something far more ob- 
noxious than dock-water and wharf-rats (to wit, all 
manner of squalor and physical and moral uncleanness), 
harbored there. At the beginning of the street in the 
neighborhood of the hardware mart, the human ware was 
not so hard as farther down the street, and it had some 
little pretence to trade. There were a few shops there, 
but small, sombre and dingy. One of these was an auction 
room, with its little red flag at the door, and noisy crier 
within. Into this place the man in the fishing dress, after 
glancing furtively at Fairbanks, who followed him like a 
shadow, entered quickly, and turning immediately to the 
window on oDe side, peered at Edwin through a small 
broken pane, as he passed. 

A close observer of the fellow would have seen, even 

under his unshaven beard, that he changed color a little 

as the firm, erect and athletic form of Edwin Fairbanks 
✓ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 12T 

* It is him, — ^him V he muttered with a blasphemous 
imprecatiou between his grating teeth, yellow with tobacco- 
juice, while his tremulous fingers half-screened his guilty 
and unwholesome face, and his other hand grasped a pistol 
concealed in the huge pocket of his pea-jacket. ‘ If he is 
doggin me ! But he can’t recognize me. I was a blasted 

fool though, (and here he cursed himself), to 

speak in meetin’. Old Godwin allers said I was my own 
worst enemy.’ 

He was interrupted in these reflections by the noise the 
auctioneer made to attract his attention, and induce him 
to join his half-dozen by-bidders and chance customers who 
were leaning upon his counter and examining a Connecti- 
cut fiddle, which he was crying to the skies as a real Cre- 
mona. This auctioneer was in some respects a worthy 
man, but a very odd fish withal, and so remarkable for his 
peculiarities of manner and speech, that his shop was often 
visited by the young wags of the town, merely to be 
amused at his method of selling. He, on the contrary, 
never appreciated the compliment, for with all his capacity 
to amuse, he never ajDj^eared to see any fun in it, but pre- 
served a lachrymose expression, in keeping with the rusty 
weed upon his well-brushed but much broken black silk 
hat, and thread-bare black apparel. Iso shirt was visible : 
perhaps he wore none. Certainly he wore no collar, but 
his long face and jaws (innocent of whiskers, with the ex- 
ception of a few stray white and brown spears upon his 
cheek bones), were supported by a high black stock, the 
covering of which being ragged, revealed a browp buckram 
foundation. This individual would have served admirably 
as a mute at a funeral. Perhaps his facetiae was involun- 


128 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

tary, and his heart had its own sorrows^ Certainly he 
never laughed, and when he smiled, it was only the ghost 
of a grin, and fled hke a flash. He was never known to 
be jocund — never gay, and seldom cheerful. Still he was 
a wit and humorist — of an original and peculiar model, 
certainly, — and even his melancholy ways afforded food for 
the laughter of the graceless youngsters who too often 
mixed in with his motley audience. Tom and Hat, our 
two apprentices, had frequently joined in this ‘ sport,’ but 
that was many years ago. Poor old Hagglesfelt ! Time’s 
effacing fingers and the march of improvement have obli- 
terated his famous place long, long ago, and the same tide 
has washed him away also like a piece of human drift-wood; 
but we believe that he is floating about somewhere still, 
his occupation gone, and his purse and larder empty. But 
to return to our story. 

‘ My maritime friend I’ said the auctioneer, in a small 
bland voice, and with two fingers of his left hand held to 
his thin lips to conceal the absence of a front tooth — a 
defect which he always strove to hide — ‘ My maritime 
friend I (elevating his voice), Captain Bugbee, I say 
And sotto voce, or in an under-tone, to those close at hand, 

* An old customer, gentlemen ; Capt. Bugbee, the cele- 
brated whaler.’ 

This was a ‘ whaler,’ but in another sense. ‘ Captain 
Bugbee, I say I I beg your pardon, sir,’ he added, as, at- 
tracted by his voice, the man whom Edwin had followed 
thus far, turned towards the counter ; ‘ Thought you were 
my old friend, Capt. Bugbee. Buys thousands of dollars, 
worth of me. The same fine naval bearing, — quite & 
counterpart, I declare !’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 129 

‘ Old Hagglesfelt said the man to himself ; ‘ but he 
don’t recognize me. It’s all right’ — and he leaned on the 
counter like the rest. 

* A splendid Cremona, my good friend !’ cried 
Hagglesfelt, impeding his words, as usual, with his two 
fingers. ‘ Pass it down, gentlemen, and by so doing allow 
my excellent friend from Cape Cod to examine it ! There 
is an instrument for you, sir !’ he added with emphasis of 
intense admiration, as the fiddle was carefully handed by a 
blue-cottonade frocked indiyidual, from the rural districts, 
to the person whom we have followed to this place. ^ If 
Paganini were here he would stop the sale, sir. He would 
not suffer that violin to be sacrificed. Make me a bid. — 
Start it, gentlemen ! Somebody make me a bid. I wish 
Mr. Ostinelli was here I — the leader, gentlemen, at the 
Tremont. He is a judge of the instrument. Supplied 
the Handel and Haydn with a gross of them last week. 
A musical society, sir. Do you sing, sir ?’ 

This inquiry was addressed to a sort of blacksmith-like 
looking person, with a square paper cap on his head, a 
carbuncled nose and a brace of eyes swimming in a sea of 
brine, or brandy. ‘No, I don’t’, replied the man. ^ Then, 
sir,’ said the auctioneer, ‘ you ought to learn to play I 
Somebody, give me a bid ! Gentlemen, this is dreadful! 
TThat an opportunity thrown away for a man to fit himself 
to take a leading part in an Oratorio ! Buy a copy of 
The Violin in Five Lessons, for ten cents, and with this 
instrument, any of you except the gentleman wijh the one 
arm yonder, may soon command a susjplendid salary as 
leader of an orchestre 1 What am I offered for this mag- 

6 * 


130 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

nificent instrument ? Gentlemen I cannot dwell ; make 
me a bid 1^ 

‘ Twenty cents, ^ said the blacksmith. 

‘Twenty cents, Fm offered! Twenty cents! Gentle- 
men, this is too bad. Twenty, twenty, twenty! Give 
me twenty-fave! Thank you, sir! (nodding at vacancy.) 
Twenty-fave, I^m offered.’ ‘ Thirty !’ said a by-bidder, a 
sort of human cucumber gone to seed. ‘ Thirty I’m offered. 
Thirty-fave! forty! forty-fave! Thank you sir! Forty- 
fave! [In his very peculiar accentuation, Hagglesfelt 
called five fave.l Think of all the tunes in this susplen- 
did instrument going for forty-fave ! When music, he^-ven- 

born babe, was ^forty-fave! Give me fifty! Worth 

as many dollars! Give me fifty!’ And then audibly to 
all, but in an affected undertone as if to himself, ‘If 
Comer was only here, or Master Burke, I should not have 
my feelings lacerated by this sacrifice! It’s dreadful ; 
absolutely dreadful ! Never have I known such a thing, 
since I’ve been in the business, as a real Cremona to go 
for less than two dollars!’ This tender appeal was too 
much for the young six-footer, in the blue frock, and he 
offered fifty cents. ‘Thank you, sir! Fifty cents I’m 
offered. You appear to be a gentleman, sir ; probably 
agricultural. A susplendid pursuit, sir, the grand primi- 
tive employment, sir. Only fifty cents! I often wish, 
sir, that I could abandon the hammer for the plough. 
Fifty cents! Give me fifty-fave!’ ‘Fifty-five,’ offered 
the countryman, upon, his own bid. •Thank you sir ; fifty- 
fave I’m offered ! A case of conscience, gentlemen! You 
have a musical face, my maritime friend ! The counter- 
part of Mend Captain Bugbee’^, who never comes tO' 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


131 


town without coming to my office for a violin But not 
being able to elicit a bid from ‘ the counterpart of Capt. 
Bugbee/ be retracted what be bad said in bis favor, and 
remarked that be didn’t like tbe appearance of any man 
with born buttons on bis coat. ‘ He smelt fisb and foul 
both!’ Tbe fiddle was then knocked down at sixty cents 
to tbe son of Cyclops. ^ And now, gentlemen,’ said tbe 
auctioneer, ‘ What am I ojfered for the, how V 

Tbe astonished blacksmith said be thought tbe bow 
went with tbe fiddle. ‘ A violin at sixty cents, and expect 
a bow to be thrown in! My dear man, sbant I furnish 
you with a barrel of rosin! How much am I offered for 
tbe bow, gentlemen!’ Tbe by-standers ran it up to thirty 
cents, and it was bid off to tbe chagrined Cyclops — tbe 
auctioneer, in tbe meantime, making many satirical re- 
marks upon tbe unreasonableness of a man’s expecting to 
obtain a bow for nothing. 

Tbe next sale proceeding more slowly ; tbe bids being 
confined, indeed, almost entirely to tbe seedy-cucumber 
person, with tbe heavy eyes and fat paunch ; tbe auc- 
tioneer more than intimated that be didn’t bejieve there 
was two-and-tbreepence among tbe whole crowd, and that 
bis office was an office for tbe sale of goods, and not a 
place for loafers. 

* I was in tbe House of Correction a short time ago, 
gentlemen — merely as a visitor — and I saw some faces 
that I think I recognize here!’ It was only a bit of 
Hagglesfelt’s blackguard, but it struck ‘the maritime 
gentleman,’ like a slug intended for bis own ear, and 
thrown off his guard by its suddenness, be cried out — 

‘ "Who — what — where ? What do you mean ?’ 


l32 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

‘ Look out for your pocket-books, gentlemen!^ cried 
Hagglesfelt, satirically, for he recognized the fellow as 
one of the varlets who used to annoy him so much. ‘ Tom 
Braxton is in the office. Somebody go for a constable!’ 

At that moment Fairbanks entered the shop. 

Braxton, for it was he, madje a spring for the door, but 
was arrested by the strong hand of Edwin. ‘ You are 
my prisoner I’ exclaimed Fairbanks. ‘Not alive I’ cried 
the ruffian, and discharged the pistol at him. It was in- 
tended for his heart, but shattered his arm only. In the 
confusion, Tom made good his escape from the shop. 

‘ Pesky-nation I’ cried the agriculturist, whom the auc- 
tioneer had flattered upon his ‘ primitive employment,’ 
‘ he hain’t killed ye, has he ?’ 

‘ Never mind my hurt!’ answered Edwin, rapidly, ‘ but 
follow that villain ? Take him, cost what it may. He is 
a murderer 1’ 

‘ Jerooshy! I’m after him like a streak!’ said the farmer, 
disengaging himself from the crowd which had collected 
round Fairbanks. Edwin’s wounded arm was now bleed- 
ing profusely, but his glance followed the Yankee, as with 
two jumps, his long legs, short trousers, and cowhide 
boots, disappeared through Hagglesfelt’s door-way. 

‘ I would cheerfully pay the trifling sum of two hun- 
dred and fifty dollars for the arrest of the desperado!’ 
said the auctioneer, as he stepped from his stand behind 
the counter, and edged his way to lock his door, to keep 
out the throng. The crowd outside had to content them- 
selves with flattening their noses into an uncommonly uni- 
form appearance upon the little panes of glass in the door 
and window. ‘ Gentlemen,’ said Hagglesfelt, turning to 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 133 

those who surrounded the wounded man, * give Mr. 
Brooks the air !’ The auctioneer had a name for every- 
one. * He is fainting. Why don’t some of you give him 
some water. Mr. Shiffle, run over to the ‘Yeoman’s’ for 
a glass of brandy to revive him, and don’t stop to sample 
it, sir I My poor, dear man,’ he continued, addressing 
Edwin feelingly, ‘ are you sure there is no other wound V 
‘ This is all,’ said Edwin, ‘ but I fear my arm is broken. 
Take your knife, if you please, and rip up my coat sleeve. 
Stand back, my friends, and give me more air ; I am very 
faint I’ 

‘ The gentlemen that have not been born and educated 
in a pig-sty, will stand away, and not suffocate the poor 
man,’ cried the auctioneer, sarcastically. 

‘Will somebody hail a hack!’ said Fairbanks, quite cool 
and collected, notwithstanding the painful nature of his 
wound. The seedy by-bidder, in compliance, disappeared 
through the back-door. ‘Now, if you. please, bandage 
my arm with this handkerchief.’ When Hagglesfelt had 
carefully, and with many exclamations of pity, completed 
this operation, the cucumber man came in and whispered, 
in a hoarse smothered voice, pecuhar to him (and to tin 
speaking tubes) that the desired carriage stood at the rear 
entrance. Edwin stepped into it. 

‘ To the hospital, sir ?’ inquired the driver. 

‘ No ; to Derastus Clapp’s office,’ was the reply. 

The man knew the place well ; Clapp being a famous 
rogue-catcher. Before parting, Fairbanks thanked Mr. 
Hagglesfelt for his humane attentions, and hoped soon to 
se« him again. 

‘Delighted,’ replied the auctioneer, with two fingers 


134 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

before his mouth as usual, and touching his cadaverous 
hat graciously with the other hand, * most happy, I^m 
sure, to have you visit my apartments, / where, retired 
from the busy hum,' &c. Not boarding at the Tremont 
now ; stop at the Yeoman's.' 

As the first-named hotel was at that time regarded with 
profound veneration as the most aristocratic place in the 
world (St. James' Palace only excepted) by all the aspir- 
ing snobs in town, and * the Yeoman's' was a teamster's ♦ 
tavern in Ann-street, Edwin could not help thinking that 
at any other time he would have enjoyed the joke, but 
now faint and anxious; and in haste, he made no rejoinder 
either by word or look, but bade the driver to proceed as 
speedily as possible. A moment afterwards the carriage 
in which he sat rattled over the cobble-stone pavement 
(extorting a groan in spite of him), and was out of sight. 

* Son of Peter C. Brooks — an old customer,' was the 
only reply vouchsafed by the eccentric auctioneer, to the 
repeated inquiry of ‘ Who was it ?' Be-entering his little 
shop, he cleared it rather unceremoniously. 

‘Walk out of my office, gentlemen. No sales this even- 
ing. Sjilendid lot of rat-traps to-morrow, at ten 1 Happy 
to set them for you. Good evening — ^good evening. Put 
up the shutters, Mr. Gaw (this was to the seedy retainer, 
as the crowd were retiring), and, Mr. Shiffle, give me fifty 
cents from the drawer, and charge it to account of Per- 
sonal Enjoyment.' 


[the three apprentices. 


135 


CHlPTER XVIII. 

Reverts to the Court Room — The Parting T»f Kate with her Hushand 

— Ossified hearts tried some — Old Reed — Pictures from Life— 

Nathan is Remanded to Jail. 

We left the court-room at the close of the chapter next 
preceding the last, in such a state of excitement as was 
regarded by the tall, snuff-colored constable (with his neck 
in so many folds of silk handkerchiefs) as little short of 
church sacrilege. ‘ Order, there, in the gallery com- 
rnands the stalwart and dignified High Sheriff, in the blue 
coat and expanse of lemon-colored cassimere vesting. — 
*Mr. Prescott (to a short, fat officer), you will have to 
make some arrests up there I Mr. Reed, request the gen- 
tlemen to resume their seats or retire from the court-room.^ 
The tall, thin constable pushed his way into the crowd au- 
thoritatively. 

All made way for the Sheriff, instinctively. It was his 
intention to replace the prisoner in the dock. He found 
him supporting the unconscious body of his wife, who lay 
like a statue in his arms. 

‘ I have killed her !’ said Nat, in a voice not loud but 
deep, and with a pale, haggard, despairing look, for he felt 
that his cup of bitterness was full. There was in the poor 
man^s face such unutterable misery, that the Sheriff, satis- 
fied though he was of his guilt, beckoned to his tall con- 
stable, who, with the glittering ‘ wristers’ in his hand, was 
about to manacle the prisoner, to stand back ; and in a 
compassionate tone, said, ‘ She will soon be better, Mudge. 
She revives a little, I think. Let he' friends bear the 


136 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

lady into my room, Mr. Shute, and you provide some res- 
toratives. Mr. Godwin,’ lie added in a lower voice, and 
taking the old man’s trembling hand into his own, * this is 
your daughter, I believe ?’ 

‘ Alas, yes 1’ replied Giles, the tears streaming from his 
eyes ; ‘ and my son, too — my poor innocent boy I’ 

‘ Ahem !’ rejoined the Sheriff, dubiously. ‘ She is re- 
covering.’ 

‘ Mr. Sheriff,’ said the Chief Justice, rising from his 
seat, which he had kept with entire composure throughout 
the commotion now subsided, ‘ I remand the prisoner to 
the Leveret-street jail, to await his sentence. In the mean- 
time,’ he added, as he replaced his spectacles carefully in 
his pocket, ‘ you will, of course, take the proper precau- 
tions both for his comfort and his safekeeping. The Court 
is now adjourned.’ 

The crier then made the usual proclamation, and his 
Honor and the associate Judges descended from their 
places. Then followed a great rush of spectators in the 
lobbies and gallery to the outer haU and door, to get a 
closer view of the ‘ felon,’ as he should pass out of the 
court-room to the carriage which was to convey him back 
to jail. 

At the noise of the hurried tramp of feet, Kate opened 
her eyes, with the expression of one waking from a fright- 
ful sleep. The Sheriff, gently and respectfully as if she had 
been his own child, removed her from her wretched hus- 
band, and placed her in the open arms of her father. 

‘ My poor Kate 1’ said Giles, drawing her to his aching 
heart. 

‘ Such a dream, dear father !’ murmured she, apparently 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 13t 

unconscious of any other presence. ‘ I am glad you waked 
me j it was so horrible.^ An involuntary shudder shook 
her whole frame as she uttered these words, and she hid 
her face upon his breast. Poor Nat tore himself from the 
embrace of his weeping sister, at a word from the Sheriff, 
and kissed her a farewell. 

‘ It is better,^ he said, in a suppressed tone to Susan, 
that I should go now before she recognizes me. It will 
save her a pang which, perhaps, would destroy her. Now, 
sir (to the snuff-colored constable, whose ungracious 
manner had been affected by this unwonted scene to some- 
thing hke urbanity, I am ready to go with you, and the 
quicker the better." 

The officer looked at the Sheriff, caught his eye, glanced 
at the handcuffs, and then inquiringly into his face again. 
His superior nodded his head somewhat regretfully. Na- 
than was just beckoning a sad farewell to the old man, 
who was stiU supporting and soothing his daughter, when 
the constable took his hand and enclosed the wrist in the 
iron bracelet. A flush of shame rushed to Nat’s pale 
cheeks, and a shudder passed over Susan. For a moment 
a mortal sickness deprived her of her strength, mental and 
physical, which had hitherto sustained her through the 
harrowing ordeal of the scene which we have so inade- 
quately described. A moment more, and the other hand- 
cuff was adjusted. ‘ Behold the drunkard’s progress I’ said 
Nat, bitterly, with an expressive look at his sister, and 
passed quickly out, through a lane of faces which bent 
their eager eyes upon him, as if he were a curiosity only 
to be seen once in a lifetime. Yet many of these persons 
had seen him often in the same gilded saloons at which 


X38 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


they drank, and some, who now shrunk from contact with 
him, had hob-nobbed with him in the * Shades,’ and rattled 
their glasses in loud applause of his humorous sallies at 
the convivial table ! ‘ Behold !’ repeated Nathan, almost 

fiercely, as he passed by some whom he recognized as 
former boon companions, and lifted his manacled hands, 
^Behold tke. drunkard) s progress P 

Some hearts smote against their ribs just then, and 
some were conscience-stricken, but others laughed in deri- 
sion ; and one large pale-faced man, in fine broadcloth, re- 
marked loud enough to be heard, 

‘ Served him right I’ 

This man was the prosperous owner of a large and po- 
pular saloon, with a mammoth stained-glass lantern, which, 
like the false lights of the wrecker, alluring the mariner to 
the rocks, had seduced many an inexperienced navigator 
of life’s currents to his ruin. 

When the hack containing Nathan and the snuffy con- 
stable had gone away, followed by many who ran and 
peered into the windows, another carriage at the opposite 
door, on the other side of Court-square, received Giles 
Godwin and the prisoner’s wife and sister, and bore them to 
their home. Home! Where now was the once happy 
home of Giles Godwin ? thought the old man, as, with a 
heavy heart, he descended from the coach in front of his 
new house in Prince-street. But let us pass to other 
scenes and gayer company I 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


139 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Jolly Companions every one — A Champagne Supper at the Hotel— 
A free blow — ^Harry Price is Twenty-one — D’Orsay reappears on 
the stage — Major Sotterly’s grand entree — Practical Joke on a 
Native of the Palmetto State — How he Turns the Tables. 

‘ Wine cures the gout, boys, the cholic, and the 
phthisic ; and ^tis allowed by all to be the best of physic!* 

* Chorus P 

* And *tis allowed by all to be the best of physic I* 

* Waitaw! more segarsl* 

‘ More segars, here 1* 

‘ Some brandy and water!* 

‘ Hold on. Bring up the whiskey-punches!* 

‘ Call for what you like, boys ; a feller ain*t * free* but 
once in his life I* 

* Yes more than once!* 

‘ When’s that ? 

^ “When his wife dies!” ha, ha, he, he!* 

* Good! bravo! We’re all Benedicts I* 

' “ Let the galled jade wince: our withers are unwrung!** 
Ahem! Shakspearel’ 

‘ Meaning, Bill V 

* Speaking of Shakspeare, how Mrs. broke down 

in “ Ophelia,” last night!* 

‘ Drunk as Chloe 1’ 

' What a pity she drinks ! Waiter, another smash, and 
stronger!* 

‘ She looks all the better for it ! Rum is a great pre- 
servative! Ha ha haw!’ 


140 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

* But the idea of such an Ophelia coming to her death 
by cold water 

‘Hal hal hal hal Goodl^ 

‘ Drowning in a butt of Malmsey, like Clarence, would 
have been more apropos P 

‘ Capital I Suggest it to Barry I Ha, ha, ha 1^ 

‘ Must drink on that! Where's that champagne V 

‘ Hallo, D'Orsay, don't keep all the bottles up there, 
but give the silvery-headed gentlemen the freedom of the 
table!' 

‘ A has les siLver-hmds ! Down with them!' 

‘ What a sans culotte! They are all empty!' 

‘Waiter, bring us another basket of champagne. 
Anchor brand! Ain't free but once a year!' 

‘ Here she am ! Let her went ! Pojp ! look ! look ! luk ! 
lukllukl Pass it. Bumpers, gentlemen!' 

‘ Old Perkins, the new Alderman, gave a blow-out the 
other night — the first he ever indulged in, though old 
enough to be my father!' 

‘ Ha, ha, ha! How jolly green!' 

‘ He never saw any champagne before, but having heard 
of it ' 

‘ Short stories! short stories! We're waiting !' 

‘ He had provided a few bottles. Tileston found him 
tugging away at one with a cork-screw!' 

‘ Ha, ha, ha!' 

‘ “ What are you at, Mr. Perkins?" says Tileston, ready 
to split himself. “ I can't get the pesky cork out, sir!" 
says old P., sweating like a race-horse. Ht hadnH cat 
the wire! and Tileston had to show him how to do it !' 

‘Ha, ha, ha! Glorious! A capital joke! — ^Who's this 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


141 


bumper for ? To the liealtb of Mrs. , a rum 

Ophelia!^ Great noise of glasses. 

* She had her match, though, the other night, in Yan- 
denhoff. He played Lear to her Cordelia, and was so 
drunk and affectionate, that he was hissed 

‘ Speaking of actors. Mills was a capital low comedian. 
What has become of him?^ 

‘ Oh, he threw himself away, and went to the dogsl^ 

* Beg your pardon ; he went to Yicksburg, and cut his 
throatdn a fit of delirious trimmings!^ 

‘ The nasty beast I' 

^Ha, ha, hal More segars — segars — segars I Light, 
light, light 

As the door opened upon this noisy scene, the spectator 
might well wonder what upon earth they wanted any 
more segars in there for ; the room (it was at a crack 
hotel in Tremont-street) being already so full of tobacco- 
smoke, that it enveloped the occupants in a cloud. Upon 
looking sharp, however, for a few moments, and with 
smarting eye-balls, he would have been enabled to discern 
a party of about twenty young men, fashionably dressed, 
and tolerably respectable in their manners. At least, not 
guilty of half so much profanity as is common to the 
same class of young men at the present day — profanity 
which constitutes a large portion of ‘ the vernacular’ of 
men of even higher standing in our principal cities — 
although, for that matter, these fine gentlemen cannot 
swear with any more finish than the shirtless and shoeless 
urchins who sweep the crossings, and spatter with vile 
mud and viler words, such passengers as don’t pay. In- 
deed, so universal is profanity at this time, that little chil- 


142 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, Or 

dren, scarcely able to ‘ go alone, ^ are adepts at it, and 
almost entitled to take tbe degree of P. H. S. — Profes- 
sors of Hard Swearing. Do those among us who affect 
this accomplishment — an accomplishment equally useful 
and ornamental — take private lessons of these little rag- 
muffins ? If not, where does the custom come from ? 
Prom inspiration ? No : the command of God is, ‘ Swear 
not at allV Say you so ? Then swearing must have some 
great utility, to render it so popular, in defiance of the 
Divine prohibition. What this utility can be does not 
appear. Some people, it is true, think it sounds smarts 
and indicates experience and energy ; — but we often see 
in the hardest swearers, not only the most vicious, but 
the most inefficient men. 

True, we find that many persons of good business re- 
putation are very profane, while possibly a few convicts 
in the prison do not swear, but as a general thing, the 
violators of the law are addicted to the habit. Indeed, 
it is my own private opinion, publicly expressed, that there 
is not a scoundrel in our penitentiaries who is not a hard 
swearer. As great a rake, and unprincipled a man as 
Sheridan was, he saw that under the sun there existed no 
custom (duelling alone excepted) more absurd than the 
use of profane language, and his character of ^Boh Acres^ 
is a pointed satire at both these sins. This hero, with 
* courage oozing out at his finger ends,^ invents sundry 
expletives that come pat and apposite to the subject of 
which he is talking ; as for instance, ‘ Odds pistols and 
triggers P when speaking of his intended duel with Sir 
Ludus ; and in alluding to a ball, ‘ Odds jigs and reds P 
Certainly there is more wisdom, as well as wit, in these 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 143 

expressions of the simple Mr. Acres, than in the profane 
expletives and senseless jargon of bad language with which 
many persons interlard, and overlay, the little modicum of 
really useful or agreeable information which they commu- 
nicate ; and if any candid man given to this bad habit 
will carefully observe his own speech, he cannot but coin- 
cide with this view of it. 

But to return from this digression. Any one, not as 
deaf as a haddock, must have heard the convivial conver- 
sation (of which, just in advance of my last homily, I 
have given a sample), if he had been passing through the 

hall of the Hotel, in which it occurred, upon the 

night succeeding the trial described in the previous chapter. 

It was denominated in cant phrase, ‘ a free blow.^ And it 
was a free Uow in more senses than one, for it was a blow 
freely and voluntarily given by a young man to his own 
reputation and prospects in life. It was his freedom day. 
Harry Price was free. Free as air. Harry Price was 
his own master. And all those jovial spirits, those smart 
fellows, those genteel young chaps, those brilliant wits, 
those wide-awake men, thoroughly versed in ‘ the world,^ 
regarded him — Harry Price — as the very life and soul 
of the entertaifhnent I And such an entertainment 1 
with bill of fare printed in gold upon satin vellum, and 
the titles of the various dishes, in the four courses, printed 
in two languages ! These were some of the self-complacent 
reflections which ‘between drinks,^ as it were, flitted 
through the wine-and-smoke affected brain of a light com- 
plexioned good-looking young man, who had given the 
feast because he had attained, that day, his majority, and 
with it sundry dwelling houses, and bank stocks, to tho 


144 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

value of not less than sixty thousand dollars. This pro- 
perty was left to him by his father, a shrewd, hard-work- 
ing merchant, who, as long as he lived, stinted his children 
of their pocket money, in order (it would almost appear) 
to ruin them with an avalanche of his savings, at his 
decease. 

One of the party was the dandies’ tailor, D’Orsay, who 
was on a visit to Boston from New York, where, since his 
awkward and perilous adventure in the Cape Ann packet, 
he had been located, and was doing a profitable business. 
Notwithstanding the profligacy of his principles, this man 
was not a spendthrift ; on the contrary, whenever he could 
be mean with impunity, he was parsimonious. He was 
intensely selfish, and even in purchasing the licentious 
pleasures to which he was addicted, never disbursed a 
penny more than was absolutely necessary to the enjoy- 
ment. He gave nothing to the poor, and never made a 
present without a fair consideration ; but this was not 
apparent to his companions — intimate friends he had none 
— and he was somewhat in favor because ‘ a capital fit,’ 
and a ‘ blood.’ 

‘ Come, D’Orsay,’ said Harry Price, iphen the waiter 
had brought in another consignment of cigars and punches, 
Met’s hear from you I Bucks, something from D’Orsay !’ 

‘D’Orsay — D’Orsay — D’Orsay 1’ cried a number of 
voices applaudingly. 

D’Orsay arose amid a tumultuous jingle of glasses and 
knife handles upon the mahogany. 

‘I wish,’ said he, when the storm had subsided, ‘to 
give you in my own fashion — ^ 

‘ Ha, ha, ha j good I’ shouted one, ^ B,is own fasAion / 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


145 


Capital !’ * Ha, lia, ha V echoed others, * capital V * Or- 
der I order I Hear him 1' 

* I should be glad to drink to the health of the host and 
president at this festive board, bnt positively I cannot 
drink champagne of the “ Anchor brand.” In New York 
we drink only “ Heidsic?^ ’ 

Harry Price, a little mortified, mqnired of the waiter 
with an oath (the first he had used during the fete) why 
he hadn’t brought on any Heidsic. The waiter stammered 
and started for the door. 

* Stop fellow,’ said D’Orsay, * spare your legs. There 
is none in the house. I might say none in the city. You 
drink nothing but the Anchor brand in Boston, because 
the sole agency of its makers is located here ; but in New 
York we try all, and immeasurably prefer the Heidsic I 
With your permission, my friend, I will ask this fellow to 
bring us some sparkling Hock I John, Thomas, Chawles, 
— or whatever your name is — ^bring us half dozen of 
sparkling Hock.’ 

‘ The best in the house P added Harry, without any idea 
that this little item would add upwards of forty dollars to 
his bill. D’Orsay sang, while the waiter was awaiting 
the order, 

* Sparkling and bright 
In liquid light, &c. 

The song finished, the waiter reappeared with the wine. 
‘ It tastes like stale cider,’ said one of the company. 

* Cider I’ exclaimed D’Orsay. ‘ It is five dollars a 
bottle. It is nectar, fit for the gods, and makes no head- 
aches. Gentlemen, I give you — ’ 

* A toast ! A toast 1 Fill up, fill up 1’ 

7 


146 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

‘ I give you, gentlemen,’ the tailor continued, with a 
smile, ‘ the time-honored motto of our patriotic ancestors, — 

The Price” (with a nod at Harry) “ The Price of liberty 
is eternal vigilance I” This brilliant play upon Harry’s 
name ‘ brought down the house,’ and H’Orsay sat down 
amid shouts of laughter and applause. 

At this auspicious moment, a very large round red face, 
with a semi-circle of thin black whiskers from ear to ear, 
over a Byron collar, and a very corpulent breast and 
shoulders, was thrust into the doorway. ‘ Beg pardon,’ 
said he ; ‘ wrong room !’ as if about to retire ; and then 
recognizing the tailor, came forward and shook hands 
with great cordiality. 

‘ Halloo, D’Orsay, my dear boy I How do yer do ? 
When did you come on ? ’Pon my word this is a great 
surprise. Glad to see you, my dear fellow I But excuse 
me I I am intruding,’ said the fat stranger, glancing 
apologetically at Price. 

‘ JSTot at all,’ said Harry, ‘ sit down, sir. Mr. D’Orsay’s 
friends are ours.’ 

‘That’s hearty, and in my own way. Give us your 
hand, my boy I’ This was to Harry. ‘ I don’t know you, 
but—’ 

‘Mfr. Price, Major Sotterly,’ said the fashionable 
tailor. 

‘ Most happy to be acquainted with Mr. Price,’ said the 
Major. ‘ Son of old Price, I presume, sir ? Glad sir, to 
know you,’ shaking him again very briskly by the hand ; 

‘ May the wing of friendship never moult a feather I Our 
fathers did business oli the same wharf together, for more 
than twenty years.’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


141 


‘Will you take wine, Major inquired Harry (not 
entirely delighted with the allusion to his father, recently 
deceased) ‘ or punch V 

‘ No ; brandy ! John, give me a chair.’ 

‘John, bring Major Sotterly a chair. Fill, Major,’ he 
added, as he put down a decanter in front of him ; and 
without waiting to be urged, he promptly filled his glass 
with brandy, and a slight sprinkling of water. It was 
evident that it was not his first drink that evening. He 
smelt like a walking brandy cask, and his face fairly blazed 
with cognac. Military parades and festivals had culti- 
vated his natural taste for high feeding and inordinate 
drinking, and brought him to his present overgrown and 
bloated condition. He was still on the sunny side of forty, 
but had long ago dissipated a large fortune which had 
been thrown away upon him by a wealthy aunt ; and for 
a year or two past, having been discarded by liis relatives, 
had obtained a subsistence entirely by sponging npon the 
public. He was a hanger-on at hotels and bar-rooms, and 
haviQg an innumerable number of acquaintances, and a 
vast deal of brass, he contrived to obtain many oppor- 
tunities (which of course he never slighted) to drink 
gratis. Of those who had known him in his ‘ palmy days,’ 
as he called them, but were not posted up as to his recent 
decay, he managed to obtain occasional loans ; and it was 
said that he was sometimes suspiciously successful with 
cards. However, the Major could sing a song satisfactorily, 
and had an inexhaustible stock of jokes and obscene stories ; 
an article usually but too acceptable on convivial occasions, 
and accordingly he was always tolerated and sometimes 
welcomed. Although he had obtained his seat at Harry 


148 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

Price’s table entirely by a trick, he soon rendered himself 
a great favorite with the lads by his funny way of telling 
anecdotes, singing snatches of opera music, &c., and 
* tossing off the brandy.’ As they grew more and more 
familiar with him, his stories and songs became less and 
less decent ; but no one checked his ribald tongue, and the 
welkin rang with the young men’s laughter. In the height 
of their glee, when wild with fun and liquor, John, the 
servant, came in and begged them to be ‘ a httle more 
whisht,’ for the gentleman in the next room had remon- 
strated. 

‘ Who is he ?’ cried several voices indignantly. 

‘ It’s the Rev. Mr. (I forget his name intirely 1) of 
Georgia,’ replied John. 

‘ A parson 1 Bring him in here I’ shouted Major 
Sotterly, now three sheets in the wind. ^ Bring him {hie- 
cup J, bring him in here I’ 

^ Yes, show him up I Show him up I’ cried several, 
applauding loudly and starting to their feet ; hardly know- 
ing whether they stood on their heads or their heels. 

‘ We won’t go home till morning ; till daylight doth 
appear !’ vociferously sang half a dozen voices. 

^ We’ll have him in here,’ shouted Sotterly. ‘ Come, 
boys, let’s smoke him out 1’ 

With these words the Major ■ staggered to the door, 
followed by a number of the most audacious of the young 
men, and in a minute, or less, reappeared, escorting a 
sallow-faced man about fifty years of age, clad in a hand- 
some suit of black, but somewhat soUed with travel. He 
was evidently no common-place man, and exacted the res- 
pect even of the intoxicated scapegraces, among whom 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 149 

(with a purpose of his own), he now silently seated him- 
self. Sotterly, alone, preserved his brazen jocoseness to- 
wards him, and at his suggestion it was agreed viva voce 
to fill their glasses to the brim, and those who would not 
drink every drop at a bumper, should ‘ either sing a song, 
tell a story, or forfeit a gallon of the best Hennessy 
brandy.^ This was a practical joke upon their involuntary 
visiter, and to the infinite delight of the company, he did 
not so much as taste the drink, and in consideration of such 
flagrant abstinence, was told by the Major that he must 
sing a song, tell a story, or pay for a gallon of his favorite 
liquor. 

Think of a clergyman's doing either 1 The sallow 
stranger pressed his hand upon his eyes and forehead a 
moment, as if to’ collect his thoughts, and then looking 
from face to face sorrowfully, his regards settled upon the 
flushed countenance of the young man who gave the en- 
tertainment. ‘ I will tell you a story,’ said he. 

* Le-let it be a he-he-comical one, then !’ hickupped the 
Major. * Is it co-comical V 

* You shall judge of that,’ replied the preacher. 


CHAPTER XX. 

The Preacher tells the story of Peter and John Hay, the South Caro- 
lina Planters — ^the Forfeit paid. 

* I AM a preacher, and my field is Georgia. A rough 
cultivator of an unpromising soil, I have not the fund of 
stories of yonder fat man, nor his gracz in relating them. 


h' 

150 NEW ENGtiAND BOYS, OR 

(There was a touch of irony in this allusion.) But I 
will repeat one that my uncle, Mason L. Weems, used to 
tell whenever called upon for one in a company of choice 
spirits, like the present. Nor is it any fiction. It was 
communicated to my uncle bj- old Colonel Tom Taylor, 
father of Hon. Colonel Taylor, Senator from South Caro- 
lina, where the incidents occurred.^ 

* Go on, go on 1 Hear him, hear him cried two or 
three of the most impatient. 

^ Or-order T hickupped the Major, now bearing himself 
as one having authority. * A story from the Hev. Mr. 
WhatVhis-namel Ha, ha, ha I Order P 

THE HAY STORY. 

The stranger paid no attention to the interruption, but 
with his eyes fixed upon his long attenuated fingers, inter- 
locked in front of him, upon the table, said nothing until 
all were quiet. Then he resumed his remarks. 

‘Peter and John Hay were brothers, resident in South 
Carolina, and, like myself, natives of the Palmetto State. 
John was a bachelor, but Peter was married and had a 
child. Their prospects in life were very promising. By 
wisely improving the fruits of their father’s labors, they 
were growing rich, and by freely imparting their riches 
in acts of hospitality, they had rendered themselves very 
dear to all their neighbors. John, the youngest and 
single brother, lived with his father ; but Peter and his 
wife, with their little son, lived by themselves. But 
though, for convenience sake, they had chosen different 
houses to live in, yet might it well be said of them that 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


151 


they lived together ; for their houses were not farther 
apart than just served for a pleasant walk, which was 
almost every day indulged in, either by the old gehtleman 
going over to see and play with his little grandson, or by 
his mother, fondly carrying the child to prattle with the 
* Old Folks at Home.^ Shaded by the rustling trees, and 
fanned by the evening breeze of summer, their houses 
stood on the graceful ridge that bounds on the north the 
great valley of the Congaree ; while broad below, and 
far stretching to the river, lay their fruitful fields, covered 
over with bursting pods of cotton, white as the driven 
snow, and on either side a wilderness of corn, with lusty 
shocks gratefully pointing to the clouds that filled their 
horns.’ 

[Here Major Sotterly, who was breathing heavily, 
opened his eyes instinctively, and re-filled his glass.] 

*The silver flood that embosomed their plantation,’ 
continued the clergyman, without heeding the laugh which 
followed the Major’s movement, ‘was stocked with fish 
and wild-fowl of many a savory sort. Their numerous 
herds poured them forth milk in foaming pailsfull, yielding 
butter and cheese in abundance ; while from the flowers 
that perfumed both field and forest, the ever busy bees, 
still supplied them, yearly, with hives of luscious honey- 
comb. 

‘ But what avails it to put good into the hands of those 
who do not know its use ? [And here Harry Price’s eyes, 
glowing with the unnatural lustre imparted by cham- 
pagne, fell before the searching look of the speaker, for 
the interrogatory smote his own conscience.] Wisdom 
to appreciate our benefits, and gratitude to adore the 


162 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

great Giver ; these are the only essentials to happiness ; 
and Peter and John Hay possessed them not. They had 
grossly neglected the limited facilities of education which 
had been proffered to them j and 

“ Knowledge, to them, her ample page. 

Rich with the spoils of time, had ne^er displayed.”' 

All books, even the Book of books, had been slighted by 
them, and, consequently, their pleasures were too often 
unintellectual, immoral and sensual. They loved the wine- 
cup 

‘We love whaPs in the cup!’' whispered D’Orsay to 
Harry Price, with a smile ; and then, as he observed how 
intently the others were listening, he added with a sneer, 
* Major, we^re in for it I We’re good for a temperance 
story I’ 

But Major Sotterly had ‘dropped ofif,’^ or, in other 
words, was fast asleep — his gross chin sunk upon his breast, 
and his great fat scarlet face looking ready to burst. 

‘ You mulcted me in a story, and now you must hear 
me out,’ said the clergyman. 

‘ That’s but fair,’ said Harry Price. * Go on, sir, if yon 
please. We don’t approve of intemperance more than 
you do. A moderate indulgence is allowable of course.’ 

The stranger continued — ‘ Great was the grief of the 
neighbors of Messrs. Hay, when they beheld these young 
men yielding themselves up the slaves of drunkenness, and 
for so ignoble a vice, tarnishing the lustre of their long- 
respected name. But greater still the grief of their aged 
sire ! Lovely in his eyes had shone the cheeks of his boys. 


153 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 

all reddened oyer with the roses of youth. To see those 
■ dear cheeks inflamed, though with but an innocent fever, 
had often wrung his heart ; then, oh, how passing the 
bitterness of death, to see then! swollen and crimson red 
with incessant intemperance 

Sundry glances were cast at the distended and glowing 
face of the unconscious ‘ Major.^ 

‘The old man was almost heart-broken. Divorced 
from the world by his gray hairs, he had wisely confined 
himself to the society of his children ; fondly hoping in 
their affections to forget the world’s neglect ; in thdr 
bloom to see his youth renewed ; and in their virtues his 
own fair name honorably perpetuated? Ah I who but a 
parent could conceive his grief, when he saw those dearest 
hopes of nature all blasted forever ? With cheeks bathed 
in tears, he sat in silence, his silver locks passing in sor- 
row to the grave. 

‘ More poignant even than the father’s unhappiness, 
was the anguish of the young wife of Eeter Hay. Wedded 
to her husband by the tenderest ties of love, and there- 
fore tremblingly alive to his interest and honor, the first 
time that she saw him deformed by drunkenness, she turned 
pale with terror. Her fears, however, at first, were 
soothed with hope. But when she found that in spite of 
all her tears, and all his own promises, he still continued, 
time after time, to come home stupefied and staggering 
with drink, she yielded herself up to despair. Like a young 
widow, at her husband’s grave, she sat by his drunken 
bedside, deeply deploring her early blasted hopes, and the 
Bad change that had befallen her late happy household. 

‘ Till recently, he had always returned from court, or 

n* 


l54 NE-W ENGLAND DOTS, OE 

meeting of the planters in the county, with looks brighten- 
ed with the double joy of conscious rectitude and love ; till 
of late, with her little son in her arms, she had always 
flown to welcome his return, and accompany him to the 
parlor. There, leaning on his honest bosom, and their 
little one in his arms, she was wont to listen, delighted, to 
his sprightly voice, as embracing them again and again, 
and with mingled kisses he related the pleasant occurrences 
of the day. 

* But now, alas ! these happy scenes are no more. Now, 
whenever he comes home, it is in a reeling and unsteady 
gait ; his face darkened with the sullen frown of conscious 
guilt, or overspread with the broad grin of stupid inebriety.^ 

‘ Beg pardon, sir,^ whispered the servant to Harry, 
* shall I bring up the flip now ? It^s hard on to one 
o’clock, sir.’ 

‘No I’ replied the young man, hastily. ‘We don’t 
want it. Clear yourself.’ Then returned his attention to 
the South Carolinan, in whose story, in spite of himself, he 
felt interested. 

‘ Excuse me, sir,’ said he. ‘ Peter, I presume, re- 
formed ?’ 

Without replying directly, the clergyman continued — 

‘ Returning from court one night, rather more drunk 
than usual, he had not strength to gain the door, but, 
tripping at the last step, fell forward, sprawling into the 
piazza. The fullness of his stomach, together with the 
shock of so heavy a fall, brought on nausea and vomiting. 

‘ His little son was not yet put to bed, though the hour 
was late, but stood heavy-eyed and nodding at the knees 
of his mother^ who, with aching heart was sitting up 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 155 

waiting for her husband’s return. Hearing the noise of 
his heavy fall, and suspecting the cause, she screamed out, 

* Oh, my God !’ and snatching a candle, ran to the door. 
Her little son followed. On reaching the door she beheld 
a sight too loathsome for description even to the indijffer- 
eat — what then for the eyes of an affectionate wife ? 

* The next morning, red-faced and snoring like an apo- 
plectic patient (and here the speaker glanced expressively 
at the somnolent debauchee who sat opposite to him), he 
lay till late. Poor Mrs. Hay, pale and deeply sighing, 
left her sleepless bed, and leading her little son by the 
hand, walked down stairs, sad and silent, to the parlor. 
The child had not yet learnt to know the cause of this 
change, but he felt that the present morning was not joy- 
ful like the past, and he wept. 

‘The breakfast table was set, and lovely shone the 
snow-white cloth, covered with a set of the purest china, 
and tearpot and sugar-dishes of solid silver. On the marble 
hearth glittered a coffee-pot of the same precious metal, 
with plates of high-piled toast and butter; while the fire, 
unconscious of its master’s dishonor, in ruddy flames en- 
circled the crackling hickory, and with cheerful blaze 
mounted high above the polished andirons. 

‘ But nothing could divert the settled melancholy of 
poor Mrs. Hay. With her child at her knees, and her fore- 
head leaning on the back of the chair, she sat like a statue. 
Dumb with grief, she could think of nothing but her own 
hapless lot, her husband’s sure disgrace, and the ruin im- 
pending over^ herself and her darling boy. Borne along 
the current of her grievous forebodings, she would groan 
BO deeply, and heave such piteous sighs, as were enough to 


l56 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

break one’s heart ; then bending over her son, she would 
kiss his fair cheeks, and wet them with her scalding tears. 

‘About noon her husband came down stairs, and in 
sullen silence entered the chamber ; but oh, how changed 
from the temperate, wholesome and handsome gentleman 
of six months before I Whoever saw him then, bright in 
the pure robes of health, physical and moral, without 
adoring the charms of his aspect and bearing ? But now, 
who could see him, long-bearded and frowzy, with red 
eyes and carbuncled face, and not sigh at his downfall ? 
Alas I my brother. 

‘ His wife marked the woful change and wept. His son 
ran to him, stretching out his little arms, and crying, 
“ Father!” The guilty parent took the child in his arms, 
and kissed him, though he felt that his lips polluted the 
innocent. 

O, Pa I” said the lisping cherub, with his arms around 
his father’s neck ; “ you don’t know how I did cry for you 
last night.” 

‘ “ What made you cry for me, my baby?” 

‘ “ O, Pa, I did cry for you because you were so sick, Pal 
What did make you so sick, Pa?” 

‘ He could make no answer to his son, but blushing and 
confused, glanced at his wife. 

‘ The words of the child, with the guilty looks of her 
husband, overcame her; then, from her eyes full of tears, 
she gave him one look full of the inexpressible anguish of 
her heart, and quickly averting her face, burst into a loud 
cry which she could not control. Her little son sUpped 
from his father’s lap, and, running to her knees, joined his 
artless cries with hers. 


THE THBEE APPRENTICES. 15T 

* This scene was too much for Mr. Hay. Pale and silent, 
he arose and went to the door, and there, as he wiped the 
trickling tears from his face, a thousand and a thousand 
times did he wish to God that he was dead. Her tears 
flowed afresh. Moved by her cries, he went and sat down 
by her side and embraced her. But it was not that fond 
and hearty embrace in which conscious innocence is wont 
to clasp its beloved object. It was the sad approach of 
guilt to innocence ; constrained and shy. 

^ With her face still averted, she continued to weep. He 
entreated her to be composed ; assuring her that this was 
the last time ; and that he would never give her cause to 
sorrow any more. Hereupon she threw her arms around 
his neck, and with her tearful face upon his bosom, be- 
sought him not to repeat that pledge. “ How often have 
you promised me so before, and yet you go pn to break 
my heart. You wish you were dead ! It is I who ought 
to wish so of myself. Indeed I do wish so ; and were it 
not for this child, glad should I be to die this very night. 
Yes, but for the pain of leaving him a poor motherless 
babe, gladly would I lie down and part with all my sor- 
rows, this night, in the grave.” 

* At this he tenderly embraced her and kissed her ; re- 
peating his assurances that he would never, never more 
give her cause to grieve. “Besides,” continued he, “I am 
the one that ought to weep, and not you. I am the one 
that has played the fool, and disgraced myself ; but you, 
innocent and good as you are, what cause have you of 
grief ?” 

* “ Oh, how little do you know my heart I” she rejoined. 
“I was young when I married you j was called handsome, 


158 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OB 

and thought rich ; what then could have induced Ine to 
make you my husband, but affection ? How, then, with- 
out distraction, can I see the dishonor that you are bring- 
ing upon yourself, as also the certain ruin of me and this 
poor unoffending child 

‘ “ O no, my dear,” rejoined he, interrupting her, “ that I 
deny. I agree I do dishonor myself, and am truly asham- 
ed of it ; but as to bringing ruin upon you and our dear son, 
that’s all out of the question. Thank heaven I shall keep 
clear of that.” 

‘ “ Oh, my dear husband,” replied she, “ I pray you, I 
conjure you, do not feed upon that hope. It is a fatal, 
fatal delusion. It has ruined thousands, and will — I haye 
an awful foreboding — ^ruin you and your family, too. How 
hard it is for a man to thrive with all his industry and 
wits about him ! Then how can it be done by one who is 
-^stupefied and palsied by hard drink ? You know that 
after a single night’s debauch you are sick for several 
days, and unfit for business ; and even when you return 
to it again' it is not with that delight which you have 
formerly had in it. And that makes me mourn to think 
what a sad change has taken place in you in that respect. 
Formerly you seemed never so happy anywhere as at 
home. Little Arthur and I, with your plantation and the 
improvement of it, seemed to make all your enjoyment ; 
and apparently you wanted nothing more ; for your looks 
bespoke the most perfect contentment. And oh, how often 
heartily did I thank God, that while so many other hus- 
bands were dissatisfied with their wives, you were so well 
satisfied with me ; that while so many other husbands 
were continually running to taverns, and company, for 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


159 


pleasure, you appeared to look for pleasure nowhere but 
in me and your little family I But now, alas 1 that for 
which I have so often pitied others, is come upon me also. 
You never appear happy with us now I Home seems to 
be irksome to you, and you remain only long enough to sleep 
or to recover from the illness caused by your excesses. 
Your vivacity is gone ; contentment has left your counte- 
nance ; and you sit silent, or mope about as if you wanted 
something you cannot find at home. And then you order 
your horse and go away, leaving me here with our son, to 
solitude and distraction. 0 how can I bear to drag out 
life, weeping and broken-hearted as I have been ever since 
you took this fatal course! When I look back to the 
happy days so lately passed — when I think how enviable 
above the lot of all women was my lot — my dear husband, 
young, handsome and affectionate — ^my estate ample, and 
still becoming more so by his virtues — and my little son 
daily -growing up the sweet and smiling image of his 
father — and compare that which was my prospect a few 
months ago, with the present, overcast and darkened 
forever, I have no comfort, no hope in anything around me. 
If I look at you my heart bleeds ; your face is bloated, 
your eyes are red, your whole air is melancholy and sad. 
If I look at our dear boy, it distresses me to find that he, 
too, is changed. He never plays now as he did. You, 
who once so delighted in him, have forsaken him. I am 
always weeping. The poor child already appears op- 
pressed with a sense of his melancholy lot. He feels that 
he is a poor forlorn child, and often comes and stands at 
my knees and cries as if he would break his heart. And, 
indeed, were he to smile and laugh it would only make me 


160 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

the sadder to think what evils were coming upon him. I 
see gamblers and sharpers crowding around you, pressing 
you to drink, getting you intoxicated, winning your money, 
and then taking your notes. I never look at you riding 
away from the house but I feel a deadly sickness at heart. 
I feel a sad foreboding that I shall never see you again. 
A thousand times a day do I see you killed by your horse, 
or drowned in some ford, or dying some of those deaths by 
which men in their cups generally perish. Then I see the 
creditors coming to take everything from us — selling all 
over our heads — and turning us all out of house and home 
to starve or beg 1” 

‘ The poor lady, who thus bewailed her unhappy fate, 
had long suffered in silence, but now the pent-up feelings 
had given way, and she expressed her whole mind to her 
shrinking and conscience-stricken husband. The effect 
upon her nervous system, worn and weakened by sleepless 
nights and days of sorrow, was to bring on a strong 
hysteric fit. Peter Hay, in the meantime, stood looking 
on, weeping sorely, and promising great amendments. 

‘ For a few days he kept his promise ; which sprang a 
new dawn of hope in the bosom of this excellent woman. 
But alas I all his promised reformation was but as the 
morning dew before the burning sun. At the very next 
court he was ensnared by a pack of gamblers, who, 
getting him tipsy, won his money, horse, saddle, bridle, 
and great coat. Some short time afterwards on his way 
from Charleston, where it was understood he had received 
a sum of money, he was decoyed by the same gang of 
sharpers, who got him drunk, and won $800 of him. In 
this way he would, no doubt, have broken his wife’s heart, 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 161 

and beggared his boy, had not God, in his mercy, pre- 
vented it by suddenly taking him away, and also his 
brother John, and in a manner which struck a wholesome 
terror in the hearts of all who knew the circumstances.^ 

[‘ Now, bucks,^ whispered D’Orsay, ‘ we are to have 
the nub of this long-winded story I Don’t go I’] 

‘ Their fields near the river, as I have said, brought 
forth plenteously, insomuch that they began to be “ at a 
loss where to bestow their fruits and their goods.” I will 
not say that they pulled down their old barns, but it is 
certain that they built a large new one, in one end of 
which they finished an apartment for their overseer. In 
this apartment they found their destruction. Fearing to 
get drunk at home, and yet so enslaved to strong drink 
that they could not live without it, they kept a jug of 
rum in their barn. On a cold and very windy morning 
in March, they went down at an early hour to the barn, 
and using the cold as a plea for a dram, they went on 
tippling till they got perfectly drunk, and fell down with- 
out sense or motion on the fioor. In this awful moment 
the barn took fire ! owing (it was afterwards said) to 
the carelessness of an old negro woman who had hobbled 
that morning, with her pipe in her mouth, into the barn, 
which contained a large quantity of heckled hemp. The 
first thing which struck the attention of the negroes at 
work in the fields, as also of old Mr. Hay and his daugh- 
ter-in-law, was a black volume of smoke issuing from the 
barn I Instantly from all parts of the plantation there 
was a violent running together of the family, white and 
black, to save the barn. But in vain. Scarcely had 
they got half-way thither, before they beheld the flames 


162 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

bursting out from all sides of the building, and roaring as 
if it were a den of furious lions. Though aghast with 
horror and despair, the friends continued to run with all 
their might towards the dreadful conflagration. When 
they had reached the spot, the intense heat was almost 
too much for the spectators to endure. And there, around 
the raging element, amidst mingled shrieks and screams, 
nothing was to be heard but “Where is young massas 
“ Oh, my children! my sons! my dear sons !” “ My hus- 

band ! Oh, my husband I” “Oh, Pa! Pa! Pa!” 

* Presently they were presented with a spectacle almost 
too shocking to relate. Through the red billowy flames 
which, driven by the fury of the wind, had now com- 
pletely encircled the apartment, and burst open the door, 
they distinctly beheld these wretched brothers lying dead 
drunk and helpless on the floor, and the fire rapidly seiz- 
ing on ev^y thing around them! Like one distracted, 
poor Mrs. Hay rushed to the fire to save her husband ; 
but the forbidding flames, with scorching blast upon her 
face, struck her back senseless and suffocated to the 
ground. The faithful negroes, too, roused to the utmost 
by their strong sympathies, and the love they bore to their 
young masters (who, whatever may have been their other 
faults, had never been guilty of unkindness to them), 
made many daring and self-sacrificing efforts to save the 
two miserable men, but in vain ; for after getting terribly 
scorched, they were compelled to give them up, and with 
bleeding hearts, to behold the vengeful flames kindling 
upon them. Owing to the rarefying effects of the intense 
heat, their stomachs being filled with rum and fixed air, 
they expanded and burst, their bowels gushing out into 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 163 

the devouring flames. Built of and containing nothing 
but combustible materials, the immense barn and its con- 
tents were entirely consumed, and when by the violence 
of the wind the ashes had been blown away, there was 
seen lying side by side, upon the whitened earth, two pale 
chalky skeletons 

As he concluded this vivid description of the catas- 
trophe which terminated the mortal career of ‘ Peter and 
John Hay,^ the Georgia preacher, whose large ‘ magnetic 
eyes^ had been fixed upon the changing countenance of 
Harry Price, throughout, now turned his head, and said, 

‘ Gentlemen, my story is ended. I have paid my for- 
feit. Are you satisfied V and there was a slight savour 
of sarcasm in the curl of his thin lips. 

Only three persons remained to respond ; all the rest 
having quietly slipped away (after having nearly yawned 
their heads off), and made good their retreat to the open 
air ; entirely assured that in their attempt at a practical 
joke upon the ‘ parson,^ he had adroitly turned the tables 
upon them, and they had ‘ woke up the wrong passenger.^ 
Some four or five, nwre intoxicated and further along in 
vice than the rest, upon leaving the hotel, repaired to 
Pleasant-street to pass the remainder of the night in a 
house of licentious character ; but the most of the party, 
rendered ashamed of their debauch by the pastor^s story, 
and feelingly reminded by the sorrowful complaints of 
poor Peter’s wife, that they, too, had parents and friends 
to grieve by their excesses, omitted the usual ‘ stirrup-cup’ 
at the bar, and proceeded silently to their several homes. 
Two or three of those throbbing heads, as they pressed 
their pillows for an hour or two of repose before the day 


l64 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

should dawn, ‘ and turned, and turned, and found no rest,' 
vowed that that night’s spree should be their last. And 
when the hours of business shone in upon their recumbent 
and unrecuperated forms and pale faces, and their blood- 
shotten eyes winked at the intruding sunshine, they pressed 
their fevered hands upon their aching temples, and inwardly 
compared themselves with Peter Hay. 

By the side of Harry Price, there remained the fashion- 
able tailor, quietly nibbling with his little white teeth a 
bit of Dutch cheese, held daintily between his thumb and 
two jewelled fingers of a lily-white hand, one elbow lean- 
ing meanwhile upon the board, and his eyes glancing 
superciliously from the voluble and earnest speaker to the 
countenance of Harry Price, in whose expressive face 
D’Orsay could easily read the emotions excited by the 
sallow Southerner’s sorrowful narration. 

A momentary smile flitted across the dark face of the 
Southerner, as he observed how his audience had dwindled, 
and he thought to himself, ^ Now I can go to bed with 
some prospect of sleep.’ 

‘ What became of the widow of Peter Hay V inquired 
Harry Price, indifferent to his companions’ departure, in 
his interest in the d^nofiment. * The widow, and her son, 
and the good old grandfather ?’ 

* But especially the beautiful young widow, my dear 
sir ? ’Pon my honor, I wish I had been there to console 
her. I do indeed 1’ lisped the elegant D’Orsay, glancing 
from his tastefully ruffled linen bosom and superb diamond 
sparkling upon it, to his massive gold watch-guard, and 
thence to the pretty fingers still retaining the morsel of 
hard cheese, while with the other hand he caressed his 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


165 


jet-black and daintily delineated whiskers ; ‘ I dare say, 
she was glad when the fellow was gone 

‘ His miserable end destroyed her, also, and within one 
brief year afterwards, all of that ill-fated family were 
numbered with the dead I’ responded the preacher sadly; 
and rising from the table, whose load of bottles, decan- 
ters, tumblers, broken glass, stumps of cigars, &c., bespoke 
‘ the banquet hall deserted,’ he took Harry Price by the 
hand. ‘ Young man, take my advice, and take it kindly. 
I confess that I have been talking (as they say in the 
Legislature) “ against time,” as well as against intem- 
perance, and I have succeeded in talking your wild com- 
pany away, and yonder voluble ohese to sleep ; but the 
story with which they compelled me to punish them, is a 
true one. And I could tell you many, applicable to your 
own case. Nay, dismiss the fear that I wish to inflict 
another temperance tale upon you to-night — or rather, I 
might say, this morning, for I see that — 

‘ We are among the litth hours, and your sermons are 
prosy,’ interrupted D’Orsay, yawning, and lighting a cigar. 

‘ Besides,’ continued the stranger, replacing his watch 
without heeding the tailor’s impertinence, ‘ I need not 
give you Southern illustrations of the misfortunes that 
attend the wine-bibber and rum drinker, since you have 
so many bitter and fearful ones even in this generally 
moral city of Boston. 

‘ Moral 1’ cried D’Orsay, rising, ‘ There is more iniquity 
perpetrated in this same pious village than there is in New 
York and New Orleans, notwithstanding all their cant. 
I know all about it I’ 

‘ Without questioning your knowledge of the vices of all 


166 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

these citicsf, rejoined the clergyman, ‘ I must say that, 
with the exception of a few pestilential agitators’ (this 
was intended for Garrison & Co.), ‘ Boston is not so bad 
a place as I thought it before I visited it. • Still the vice 
of intemperance exists here, I find, as well as elsewhere ; 
and you had .a most melancholy instance of it to-day, in 
the case of the young man who was convicted of arson, and 
is to suffer the penalty of his crimes upon the gallows 1’ 

‘ Was Mudge found guilty, sir V inquired Harry Price. 

‘Mudge? What Mudge?’ said the tailor, before the 
young man’s question could be answered. 

‘ Kathan, I think, was the man’s given name. I sup- 
posed the case was more familiar to you than to me, who 
am a stranger,’ replied the clergyman. 

‘ I have not been in Boston before to-day for some 
months past ; and I know nothing of this,’ said the tailor; 
and a momentary feeling of shame and regret shot through 
his diminutive heart, and terminated in a small volume of 
smoke, which he issued, with a puff, at that moment. 
^ How is it ? What is it ? What are the circumstances V 
he added, with much more anxiety than he cared to dis- 
play, and elaborately knocking the ashes from the end of 
his cigar, to conceal the interest he felt. 

‘A dreadful crime,’ rejoined the Georgian; *and the 
trial was attended with the most painful cfrcumstances. 
His wife was present.’ » 

* His wife ?’ gasped H’Orsay. 

* You knew Nat Mudge ; didn’t you ?’ said Harry 
Price. ‘ I have often heard him spoken of. He married 
Giles Godwin’s daughter, once the “ Belle of the North 
End.’” 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 167 

D’Orsay denied any knowledge of them. 

‘ He was a clever fellow, and a great favorite, I have 
heard (added Harry), but became a toper. No com- 
mand of himself ! Everybody said she was a fool to have 
h i m ; but she would, and now see the result I’ 

* And not the result only, but the causes, young man — 
see the causes I This wretched man commenced a career 
of intemperance by indulgences far more innocent than 
these walls have witnessed to-night. My dear young 
man,^ he continued, laying his left hand upon the shoulder 
of Harry, while with the other he grasped his hand affec- 
tionately, 

* Beware of the wine cup I The animalculae in the 
water we drink are not visible to the unaided eye, and you 
may see nothing evil in a glass of champagne, but there is 
a little potent devil lurking there, notwithstanding. The 
animalculae of the still are the imps of perdition 

‘ This was my freedom-day you know, sir,^ began Harry, 
apologetically; for somehow he respected the stranger, and 
was completely sobered and much impressed with what he 
had said. 

‘Your freedom-day, and yet you have commenced to-night 
a life of slavery — slavery to a bad custom ; a bondage to 
sensual indulgence : a bondage worse than African slavery 
a thousand fold ! Struggle to keep clear of these shackles 
young man. “ Abstain from fitshly lusts that war against 
the soulP And when these chains and trammels of custom 
and this moral slavery, are abolished from your own glori- 
ous yet not faultless New England, then lift your voice for 
the abolition of slavery in the South. But this is irrele- 
vant. Good night. I shall be pleased to have you dine 


168 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

with me to-morrow. Leave that fat animal where he is/ 
he added (observing Harry’s glance at Major Sotterly, 
still somnolent but prostrate under the table) , the servants 
will take care of him. Good night. God bless you I’ 

‘ Good night, sir I’ responded Mr. Price. 

‘Pleasant dreams, Major!’ said D’Orsay, gaily, and, 
tossing his segar into the blazing face of the snoring sot, 
he had- the pleasure of seeing that individual start violent- 
ly, and with many an oath, kick lustily at the table above 
him, until it tottered upon its legs and keeled over, carry- 
ing all with a crash to the floor. 

The next day, when Harry Price called to liquidate 
* that little bill for the supper,’ he footed the account in 
full by the payment of one hundred and forty dollars, and 
odd. Enough to support a poor man six months, thrown 
away upon a single supper 1 And what a night that was, 
and how differently passed by poor Nat in his lonely cell 1 

D’Orsay thought of him after he had parted with Harry 
Price at the corner of Beacon and Tremont-street (with 
a suggestion that they should meet the next day for a 
game of billiards) and hurried into his quarters at the 
Tremont House. And when he had laid his well-lubricat- 
ed head, encased in an oiled-silk night-cap, upon his 
pillow, and drawn his little knees up to his chin, for the 
better conservation of the animal heat, and pressed his 
frigid toes in his delicate hands, and wished the coarse 
damp linen sheets in a warmer place than any above the 
surface of the earth, his mind inflamed and rendered rest- 
less by the excesses of the evening and the intelligence he 
had just received, reverted to Nathan Mudge. He could 
not realize that the simple-hearted, sweet-tempered, merry 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 169 

lad, whom he had so often met at Giles Godwin’s, was guilty 
of the diabolical crime, the details of which had been re- 
lated to him by Harry Price. He might have been acces- 
sory, but Tom Braxton was the real incendiary he felt 
assured, No live man knew better than he what a con- 
summate and unscrupulous villain Tom was. He knew 
that Braxton had burned with resentment against his old 
master and several' members of his household, and he 
now recalled to memory a threat made with many and dire 
imprecations, that he would like to, ‘ some fine black old 
night, fire up that old rookery.’ As this recollection came 
to him, his first impulse was one of regret that he had not 
been present at the trial, and a hasty resolve that he 
would yet do what he could for the exculpation of Nathan. 
Then followed the thought, piercing the other as if it were 
a bubble, that he could not testify against Braxton with- 
out endangering some secrets of his own. Thus are*!nen’s 
impulses for good too often aborted by the exactions of 
sin, almost as soon as conceived. ‘Besides,’ reflected 
D’Orsay, with a bitter qualm of mortified vanity, ‘ I made 
a fool of myself on board that villanous packet, and Kate 
despises me I’ He turned over in bed with a feeling of 
more self-dissatisfaction than had crossed him for a long 
time, and thrust his feet with some energy at the foot- 
board. Then the remembrance of her beauty recurred to 
him, and he felt a sensuous luxury in it, notwithstanding 
her contemptuous rejection of him. She must still be a 
fine looking woman, and a prize worth having. ‘ What 
would hecorue, of Aer, after the execution of her hushandV Oh, 
despicable idea, unworthy even thy stunted heart and 
dwarfish affections, 0, D’Orsay 1 But it flashes through 

8 


I'ro NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

you like an electric current ; the moisture starts to your 
fevered brow, your pulse is quicker, and your excited brain 
is concentrated upon the demoniacal suggestion. ‘ When 
Mudge is dead, his wife, the wife of an executed felon — 
neglected, abandoned and despised — will joyfully receive 
the advances once so contemptuously repelled.^ The 
thought filled him with an almost insane glee, and though 
he tossed about and turned and turned, without a wink of 
sleep, until the morning dawned, the grey light found his 
evil mind and heart absorbed by this one wicked design. 
Here let us leave him to the vile imagination which fol- 
lowed him even into the land of dreams, and while he 
sleeps the morning hours away, seek the acquaintance of 
a man as different from him as our most wholesome appe- 
tite could desire. 

m 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A Hard Customer — Tall specimen of a Yankee Farmer — Tom Brax- 
ton’s Fliglit — ^Earthing the Varmint — Great Battle and Conflagra- 
tion in the Black Sea — The Yankee and the Firemen. 


An honest-hearted, simple-minded feUow was John 
Hard — ^large-framed, without fatness ; his coarse skin, 
chapped and embrowned by exposure to winter’s blast 
and summer’s sun — ^his nose prominent, his eyes intelligent, 
his forehead fairly developed, his hair not quite black, and 
diversified by cow-licks (two of which, in front, made it 
stand up stiff and wiry like General Jackson’s), his face 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 171 

mnocent of beard, bis mouth a generous one, bis teeth 
broad and white, his chin well* rounded, his ears large 
enough for another pattern, his hands as red and hard as 
a brick, and about the same size, his frock of blue linsey- 
woolsey, like an elongated shirt extending below his knees, 
his ten pounds of boots redolent of the barn-yard — he was 
the very opposite of the fair, sleek, oily, and perfumed Mr. 
D^Orsay. Young John was a child of nature. He was, 
moreover, the son of old Reuben Hard. Reuben was the 
salt of the earth — not rough, like John, but sweet-man- 
nered, and mild as mother’s milk to every one — even to 
his old horse, when perversely persisting in walking 
instead of breaking into a reasonably slow trot. But young 
John had the same kind heart his father had, notwith- 
standing the rough bark in which it was enclosed, and 
with even a larger stock of benevolence ; though for the 
matter of that, the old man was no niggard : the way- 
farer never went hungry from the door of his comfortable 
farm-house, but often with hands and heart, both full, 
blessing him and his. John had enjoyed few advantages 
of schooling, even in the school-glorious Massachusetts, 
and the College-honored county of Middlesex. Three 
months in the winter annually, for some four or five years, 
comprised the entirety of his schooling ; but he had made 
the most of the time, and studied with as good a will as 
he worked ; consequently was no ignoramus. Besides the 
rudiments, he had at his tongue’s end the Declaration of 
Independence, and knew more about the federal and State 
Constitutions, and the history of the country, than many 
of those who were ^ finishing their education’ among the 
skulls and dry-bones of the dead languages, and defiling 


172 NEW EN,GLAND BOYS, OR 

their intellects with the licentious classics of the Greeks 
and Latins. John knew something about the history of 
other nations, too, for he had some thirst for knowledge ; 
but he was diffident in the use of his ‘ hook-larnin^ (as his 
father called it), and was better content to ‘ spread him- 
self’ upon practical agriculture and the economy of geo- 
ponics and the barn-yard. Old Reuben used to say that 
his boy (then only six feet high, not having attained his 
growth) was equal to a blacksmith, wheelwright, and car- 
penter, all in one, and not a bad hand at horses and live 
stock in general ; besides being a first-rate milker, and, 
in short, the best farmer in the country ; and he rather 
calculated that in a more unsettled country, where lawyers 
and politicians were not so plenty, John would only have 
to put himself ‘ forrud to stand a’mazin’ close chance for 
the Legislator.’ But he only ventured this remark at his 
own capacious fireside ; and at such times ‘ Marm,’ as he 
always called his wife, a lady of extraordinary size and 
flesh, would glance sharply at him, through the big round 
glasses of her indispensable green specs, and ask him if he 
wanted John to emigrate to Michigan or Wisconsin ; and 
if he had no word of praise for Jonas and Joshua ? These 
were the two younger boys, the very piders of their 
mother, and, like. her, very fat, though without a particle 
of her energy. These good folks ‘ carried on’ a milk-farm, 
and the fat boys alternated in driving the cart with a sup- 
ply of about fifty gallons of the delicious beverage daily, 
without a drop of water, to their customers in Boston. 
Occasionally, John would accompany one or the other of 
them to the city, either to lend a hand or make a pur- 
chase. By accident, he had stumbled, as it were, into 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 1Y3 

Hagglesfelt’s neighbDiirliood, and, seduced by the syren 
voice of the auctioneer, was led to enter liis ‘ office.^ He 
had learned to scrape a little at home upon a fiddle bor- 
rowed of one of their hired men, who was an amateur, 
and at the auction it occurred to simple John Hard that 
this was an eligible opportunity to purchase, for a reason- 
able sum, ‘an instrument,^ as Hagglesfelt assured him, 
‘ of an unexceptionable tone, faultless pedigree, and very 
desirable reputation/ He bid upon it, accordingly — ^in 
his eagerness bidding directly upon the top of his own 
bid — and would have paid five dollars for it cheerfully, 
but that he saw the blacksmith wanted it, and hating to 
disappoint him, he generously withdrew from the compe- 
tition. John Hard was the man who pursued Tom Brax- 
ton, when he fled from his attempted assassination of 
Edwin. 

The fugitive was quicker on the foot, and more familiar 
with the locality than the countryman, but John’s legs 
were long, and his tracks far ahead of each other. It was 
now dusk, the neighborhood a dangerous one, and the 
young farmer ought to have started for home an hour 
before ; but he was so fully bent upon overtaking the 
viUain whom he had seen basely attempting to take the 
life of a human being, that he thought of none of these 
things. No prudential considerations occurred to him, 
nor did he utter any cry for the arrest of the wolf whom 
he hunted, and the only sound that escaped him was 
* Jerooshy P which he ejaculated at every one of the sharp 
corners, of that many-cornered quarter, around which 
Tom turned to avoid him. In a few minutes they had 
reached the ‘Black Sea,’ a dangerous neighborhood, occu- 


It4 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

pied by thieves and prostitutes of every color and nation 
under the sun ; and dreaded by good citizens as a place 
where many a poor jack tar had suddenly disappeared, 
never more to be seen of men. The shadows of the 
gloaming had now fallen upon the narrow and filthy 
streets, and the iniquities of the night were about to 
begin. Groups of bad-looking men and bonnetless women, 
white and black, lounged around or sat upon the door- 
steps and cellar doors, indulging without stint in lewd 
conversation and profanity. Some were already passing 
the bottle, and numerous little windows on the street indi- 
cated where more rum might be obtained. But John 
Hard rushed by them, heeding nothing but the flying 
fugitive. Quite spent and breathless, Tom Braxton 
darted down the steps of a low victualling cellar, followed 
by his pursuer. Three rough-looking men — the same 
whom Fairbanks had observed leaving him in Dock 
Square — ^were seated around a stove ; for the night was 
chilly. They rose to their feet, in some alarm, as the 
fugitive and farmer bounced in upon them. 

^JerooshyP cried John Hard, seizing Braxton by the 
throat, and jerking from his hand a pistol which he was 
in the act of cocking : ‘No you don’t 1’ 

‘Knock him down, one of youl’ roared Tom with a 
great oath, and white with rage. The next instant John 
Hard received a blow upon the head that made him see, 
it seemed to him, all the stars in the galaxy ; but quickly 
projecting his right foot with one tremendous kick back- 
wards, horse-fashion, he planted his heavy cow-hide boot 
into the stomach of his rather corpulent assailant. It was 
like a battering-ram, and cast the burly ruffian, collapsed 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. ITS 

and howling, upon the hot stove, which, unused to such bur- 
dens, broke incontinently in pieces, scattering the coals 
and brands upon the combustible floor and wainscoting. 
The pipe, too, came down, pitching its contents of soot 
into the face and bosom of another of the gang, so blind- 
ing him that he found it difficult to make his way out of 
the cellar, which was now on fire. There was no time for 
fighting. Self-preservation is the first law of nature. 
John Hard rushed to the door, and ascended to the street. 
The others quickly followed ; a volume of smoke following 
them. J ohn waited on the walk, until Braxton came up ; 
then seized and dragged him, with gigantic strength, past 
a number of dirty denizens', who, with cries of alarm, were 
running to the cellar. For a few moments, Tom Braxton 
felt as if borne along by an irresistible power. It was as 
if Destiny itself had him by the nape of the neck. But 
quickly recovering his scattered senses, he attempted with 
all his might, to get away. 

* Ye squirm like an eel,^ said John Hard blandly, ^ but 
Taint no manner o^ use ! YeTe a gone sucker 1’ 

* Rescue !’ shouted Braxton, at the top of his voice ; 

‘ Rescue His voice was heard above the cries of fire, 
and in a few moments John Hard was surrounded by a 
crowd of gallows faces, of both sexes, imprecating curses 
upon him ; for he was supposed to be an officer of justice 
in disguise, and it was among the conventionalities of that 
Alsatia of Boston not to tolerate an arrest there. ‘ Mosey, 
mizzle said one of the blackguards, laying his hand upon 
the young farmer’s arm. 

^ Moses Mizzle P cried the Yankee, ‘my name ain’t 
Moses, nor Mizzle nuther 1 My name’s John Hard I 


It6 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

Consarn ye,’ he added, still holding like a vice to 
Braxton’s neck, but glancing round at some knaves behind 
him ; ‘ ye can’t hurt me a treadin’ on my feet, but if I 
should tread on any o’ your corns, ye’d yell like all git- 
eout I’ 

‘ Let go your hold I’ cried Braxton. 

won’t do’t, ye pesky varmint I’ replied John. *I’m 
offered a hundred dollars to bring ye in, and I’m good for 
the speckylation I’ The villains raised a shout of laughter, 
and hemmed him closer. 

‘ Stop scrougin’ !’ cried Mr. Hard. Some miscreant 
struck him full in thg face. 

^JerooshyP ejaculated John, and shutting up one of his long 
legs like a jack-knife, he gave the ruffian such a kick under 
the chin as liked to have terminated his life without the 
aid of a halter. This precipitated a general onslaught 
upon the young farmer, and in a few moments his blue 
linsey-woolsey frock was torn from his back, and innumer- 
able blows from fists and bludgeons rattled upon his un- 
covered cranium, like an ill-played reveille. 

‘ Consarn it all I’ cried John Hard, ‘ I ain’t used to 
this 1’ and letting go his hold of the struggling Braxton, 
he executed such a series of kicks before and behind, to 
the right and to the left, with his ten pounds of cowhide 
sole leather and stub-nails (ejaculating Jerooshy, every 
time), that he soon cleared the ring ; and seeing Tom 
Braxton edging his way through the dense crowd, he 
made a break to overtake him. But the fugitive eluded 
his grasp ; the villains seeming to open a way for him in- 
stinctively, and as instinctively closing it impregnably 
against the indignant John Hard, who again became the 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. Ht 

recipient of many blows, and though with his long arms 
and huge fists he mowed them down like grass, he must 
have soon been compelled to yield, if the welcome cry of 
‘ Head with her ! Head with her !’ and the tramp of feet 
and the rattling of wheels close at hand, had not announced 
the arrival of a fire engine. The dense multitude gave 
way with alacrity, for even with this degraded population 
there existed the feeling common to all, of self-preservation 
and the preservation of their homes. The fire company 
was the ‘ Torrent,’ better known as ‘ Old Sixteen.’ Her 
members were mostly mast-makers, ship-carpenters, rig- 
gers, and caulkers-and-gravers — a brave, hardy, good- 
principled set of men — distinguished at that period for 
their courage and usefulness at fires, their steady habits at 
home, and their detestation of the foreign vagabonds in- 
festing the neighborhoods of Broad, Ann, Cross and Rich- 
mond-ntreets. None of them felt any interest in staying 
the flames ; and seeing indications of a row in the crowd 
through which ‘ the tub’ (never called ‘ machine’ in 
Boston) passed, several of them lingered to ascertain the 
cause. A dozen or more of the Black Sea-ites — merely 
boarders there, with no extra luggage to trouble them — 
had closed around John Hard again, — all with mischievous 
and some with murderous intent. Several struck at him 
simultaneously, and one bold fellow clenched ; but him the 
stalwart farmer lifted, with one hand upon his throat and 
the other at his abdomen, and hurled into the crowd. 

‘ Jerooshy !’ 

* Stick him I’ ' stick him I’ ‘ Cut his throat I’ ‘ Rip 
him up 1’ ‘ Let daylight through him I’ were the cries of 

some ; and the earthly career of our agricultural Mend 
8 * 


1T8 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OK 

would have had a very sadden termination, but for four or 
five firemen, who, with a shout of ‘ Hold on there !’ pitched 
in among the villains, and dealing blows at all in the way, 
soon cleared a circle around the now somewhat battered 
and confused Mr. Hard. 

‘ Two upon one is one too many,^ said one of the fire- 
men, ‘ and here are a dozen of you cowards upon this man 
‘ I don’t want any help to whip the head off of him 1’ 
said a square-shouldered, bow-legged fellow ; an humble 
imitator of Deaf Burke, the Champion of England. 

‘If you want to fight him,’ said the fireman to John 
Hard, ‘ we’ll see that you have fair play.’ 

‘ Consam it I no ; I never fou’t a man in all my life. 
What ! damage a feller-critter’s profile in cold blood ? 
My bosses ain’t that color. I’m a man o’ peace ; 7 am I’ 

‘ Peace, !’ kickin’ about as you^ve been doing, looks 

like peace I’ exclaimed one of the blackguards, with whose 
ribs John’s boots had literally scraped acquaintance. 

‘ Kickin’ ! iterated Mr. Hard ; ‘ I should be meaner 
than an old blind boss, if I didn’t kick when I’m trod on ! 
But I won’t fight. I follow a peaceful callin’, and won’t 
fight for anybody but my country ; but in sdf-defeTice, I 
rather calkelate I can kick a few 1’ 

‘ Good !’ roared the firemen, laughing loudly ; then 
gave a cheer to the live Yankee. 

‘Stand back. Way there I’ said one of them to the 
crowd, now closing upon them again. ‘ Friend, come 
along with us. You’re not safe here. What’s your name?’ 
‘ WeU, I ain’t ashamed to say, my name’s John Hard.’ 
‘ Well, come along John. Give a hand at the brakes, 
and go home with our company “ 16,” here,’ said one of 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 1T9 

his new-found friends, taking his arm ; then added, in a 
low tone, ‘ them scoundrels had as lief stab you as not, if 
they thought you was alone.’ 

‘ Ye don’t say I’ exclaimed John, and taking the 
proffered arm, he went wdth the firemen, to whom the 
sullen crowd gave way with some reluctance, and not 
without some gibes at the farmer’s loss of his hat and coat. 
These incidents occurred within a shorter space of time 
than it has taken you, gentle reader, to peruse this de- 
scription of them : but already had other engine compa- 
nies arrived upon the ground, and the fire was becoming 
formidable. ‘ 16’ had not yet thrown a drop upon it * 
evidently in no hurry to stay the destruction bf a building 
so infamous. Jv'or were the other companies a whit more 
zealous to extinguish it. Col. Amory, the chief engineer, 
arriving at the spot, observed their inertness with displea- 
sure. ‘Peter C. Jones !’ said he to one of his assistants 
(a short, thick, active man, in a fire-coat and cap, and a 
trumpet in his hand), ‘see that they bend on their hose, 
there I Where’s Johnny Green ? Capt. Dinsmore, bring 
up I^'o. 6. Mr. Green, send that ladder company here I 
Capt. Adams, put 16’s water upon that fire!’ 

‘ Man your brakes, 16 1’ roared the bluff, hearty old 
man, through his trumpet. 

‘ Stand at my side, John Hard, and do as you may see 
me do,’ said one of the men, as he took his place at the 
engine. Though without a hat or cap, the farmer’s cow- 
licks were prominent above all other heads in the line, as 
he complied with the request. ‘ Up and down, sixteen,’ 
shouted the Captain. Up went the brakes and hit the 
countryman under the chin, but he soon got used to the 


180 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

motion, and worked like a rigger — acquitting himself to the 
obvious satisfaction of the company, and amusing them not 
a httle by his exclamations. For weeks afterwards his 
expletive ‘ Jtrooshy^ was a favorite word with all ]5^o. 16’s 
men. 

By dint of pulling down an old house on either side, and 
throwing a vast deal of water on the burning building, the 
fire was at length subdued. Then came the word, ‘ Hold 
on. Sixteen 1’ A familiar voice (it was old Hagglesfelt) 
said, ‘ Company No. 16, are requested by their respected 
commander to desist in their indefatigable exertions ; in 
other words Hold on, Sixteen As long as the ex- 
citement lasted, no notice was taken of the fact that John 
was minus of his coat and hat, and he scarcely gave, it a 
thought himself ; but when the company had started upon 
their return to the engine house, and our athletic farmer, 
with one hand hold of the rope and the other manipulating 
sundry protuberances upon his battered head, accompanied 
them, his lack of clothing ehcited remark. Fortunately, 
one of the men had his own citizen’s hat and coat in the 
• box of the engine, and putting them on he lent his fire 
coat and cap to our friend. John didn’t want them. He 
didn’t mind the cold a spec, he said. He was used to 
working in his shirt sleeves, even in the coldest weather ; 
and as for hats, all they were good for was to keep the 
sun off and make a fellow look pooty. This and similar 
remarks amused the firemen vastly, and what with his 
story of the fiddle sale, the affray in the auction room, 
his chase of the assassin, and subsequent ‘ scrimmages,’ as 
he called them, all of which he related while participating 
in a repast of rolls and hot coffee with the members in the 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 18i 

engine house, they all regarded him as the best specimen 
of the genus homo, in the natural state, that they had ever 
seen. 

Insisting upon going home that night, late as it was, 
though it would compel him to foot it eight or ten miles, 
the generous firemen would not let him depart only upon 
his consenting to wear the fire cap and coat proffered. 
*Wet your whistle, John, with a dram from my pistol 
before starting,’ said one, extending a little wicker-co- 
vered bottle of ardents ; ‘ it will strengthen you for your 
long tramp.’ 

* jSTot a drop,’ replied John. ^ I tried to swaller one 
Independent Day, and if it didn’t make me feel as limpsy 
as a tow string, I wouldn’t say so !’ 

‘Hal ha I ha! ha I’ roared with laughter some half 
dozen of them. 

‘ Pistil’s a good name for that ere thing, I guess,’ added 
Mr. Hard. ‘ Let it off inter a feller’s mouth, and he might 
as well be shot in right down yearnest.’ 

‘ Ha! ha! ha! ha!’ reiterated the caulkers and gravers. 

‘ Gunpowder ain’t a primin’ to it, for buttin’ the brains 
out !’ said J ohn. ‘ Hows’ever, I am as much obleeged to 
you, sir, as if it was a cup o’ night’s milk from our old 
Shorthorn. Good night ; good night, all. When I’m 
twenty-one (and that I’ll be in a few days), I’m going out 
to seek my fortin’, and perhaps I’ll come this way, and 
give ye a call.’ 

‘ That’s right, John, that’s right,’ cried several, in a 
breath ; and the yeoman departed. Without stopping to 
detail how, when he arrived at the old homestead, his 
unwonted costume frightened old Jack, the housedog, and 


182 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


listODislied his anxious father, upon whose mind flashed 
the painful apprehension that tdo much learning had made 
his tall son crazy, let ns pass to other personages and 
scenes. 


CHAPTER XXIi 

Is like Monday’s Picked-up-Dinner, one of Fragments. 

* 5ic MovE softlj in the darkened cham- 
ber ! close the shutters tighter. Exclude that prying 
sunbeam. Xot a word — ^not a whisper, even I She 
sleeps 1 At length she sleeps I What anight she has 
had of it ! The hours that bore upon their balmy wings 
sweet rest to half the vrorld, brought no opiate to the 
wild and painful fancies and racked nerves of the poor 
tenant of that bed. Touch her not : lay not as much as 
a finger upon the snow-white sheet, though it be to cover 
decorously that heaving bosom. You might break, even 
with an infanPs breathing, that bubble-dream of her’s. 
And oh ! how we have been praying throughout the weary 
vigils of the long, long night, that she might 

“Take her fill 

Of sweet and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill.” 

Her night-dress, torn either by her own hands, or in the 
efforts of her attendants to restrain her in her wild 
attempts to leave the room ; he^ naked arms extended 
above her head j her long, black volume of hair, uncon- 
fined by a cap, reposing like a cloud upon a breast white 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 183 

as the Parian marble, told of recent and fearful mental 
suffering. Even now as she slept, her compressed jaws, 
dilating nostrils, swelling veins upon her temples, irregular 
breathing, knitted brow, and occasional spasmodic action 
of the eyes and hands, reminded those who were present, 
of the flashes of lurid lightning seen after the gale itself 
has passed. It was painful to look at that face and form, 
BO young and beautiful, scathed and quivering from the 
effects of the storm which had raged with such violence 
in her own heart. 

‘ How afraid I am that she will awake at length whis- 
pered one of the two very fleshy ladies, who looked as 
much alike as two peas in a pod, as they stood side by 
side, at a respectful distance from the bed, but peering 
into the sleeper’s countenance. These were the maiden 
sisters of Giles Godwin. Susan Mudge, pale and care- 
worn, then laid her hand affectionately upon the arm of 
one of the venerable twins, and besought them to go to 
bed and obtain a little needful rest. 

* Dear Susan,’ was the reply, ‘ you, too, have been up 
all night, and what with your own sorrows, many and 
grievous to be borne — and your anxiety about Edwin, 
poor dear I’ interpolated the other — ‘you look like a 
ghost.’ ‘Dear suz, sister I I’m glad you didn’t say that 
last night I’ said the first, who was a little superstitious. 
‘I have no inclination to sleep now,’ whispered Susan, 

‘ and I shall be more content to watch the slumbers which 
God, in his mercy, has sent to my dear sister !’ ‘ Poor 

Kate I’ sighed the two corpulent ladies ; and after a few 
more words of gentle and futile remonstrance with Susan, 
for whom they now entertained an unalloyed affecHon, 


184 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

they left the room. At the door Susan, with something 
like rising color in her face, requested that when Edwin^s 
surgeon came to re-adjust the splints upon his arm, she 
might be called to assist. Such was the self-command, 
self-sacrifice and heroism of this excellent young lady. 
She was not a person to talk much about the duties of 
life : she contented herself with performing them. She 
rarely gave utterance to sentiment, and never to senti- 
mentality — ^but her sensibilities were neither blunted nor 
dormant. Grief had fallen upon her heart not like the 
thunderbolt of the tropical storm : her sorrow came and 
continued more like the silent but incessant fall of snow in 
the night, and was none the less because unostentatious. 
Under all her trials — even to the last one ‘ respecting her 
brother, w^hose conduct for a year or two past had been 
to her a continual grief — superadded to which, though a 
matter of far less moment, was Braxton’s attempted 
assassination of her affianced husband — she had borne her- 
self with fortitude and patience, and not abated one jot 
of her usefulness. Her’s was a truly Christian resigna- 
tion, acquired by the example of her lamented mother, 
and confirmed by her own daily examination of the Word 
of God, and fidelity to the exercise of prayer. She lived 
less for earth than for heaven, yet believed in fulfilling 
W'ith cheerful alacrity at all times all her worldly duties, 
and enjoyed herself in the discharge^of them, as being well 
pleasing in the sight of God. Still she was mortal, and 
in the solitude of her own chamber her surcharged heart 
would relieve itself in floods of tears. And now, when 
the worthy sisters of Giles Godwin had left her alone 
with the unconscious wife (almost the widow) of poor 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


185 


Nat, the tears came unhidden, and she made no effort to 
stay them. There are times when it is good, even for 
men to weep. The angels in heaven are said to do it, 
over onr follies : why should we be ashamed to shed them 
for ourselves ? 

Kate, on the contrary, though she had led a moral life," 
was not a Christian. She knew nothing by personal 
experience of the consolation of that hope which, since 
Christ began to preach the glad tidings of salvation, has 
sustained millions of people under the most afflictive dis- 
pensations, cruel torture by persecutors, and barbarous 
death. Susan had often conversed with her on the subject ; 
and now, with an humble but confident reliance upon a 
prayer-hearing and prayer-answering God, she knelt down 
by the bedside to pray for her souks welfare, and for that 
of her husband. It was a simple but ^rvent supplication 
to that spirit who is ‘ infinite, eternal, and unchangeable 
in being, wisdom, power, justice, holiness, goodness, and 
truth.^ When she arose from her knees, feeling lighter 
hearted than she had done for many weary hours past, 
G iles Godwin was standing near the foot of the bed, with 
his hands clasped and uplifted, as if silently uniting his 
supplication to her own. 

* Shall I see D’Orsay or the Georgia preacher ? Which 
of the two to choose. Slavery or Death ? Which of the 
two gentlemen is Slavery, and which is Death, V\l not pre- 
tend to say. I’ll toss up to decide with which of the 
twain I shall dine. Heads, be it understood, Mr. Price, 
is old Homily, id est the Parson. Tip she goes. Heads 
it is 1 I’m good for a homily.' Such was the soliloquy 


186 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

of Harry Price, at the approach of the hotel dinner honr 
on the day following the festival. 

‘ I did not expect you, my dear Sir,^ said the Southern 
clergyman, as he encountered Harry in the vestibule, and 
shook him cordially by the hand, ‘ but allow that I^m right 
glad to see you. Come in ; we dine here upon the French 
plan, minus the FreDch dishes.^ 

The two sat down at a small table together to a sump- 
tuous repast, and after a brief grace, which took Harry 
quite aback, they entered into an animated conversation, 
in which the South Carolinian rendered himself so agree- 
ably instructive, that our young friend thought that he 
had never before enjoyed a dinner with any friend — or 
any dozen of friends — so well ; and yet without one drop 
of stimulants. Tjje clergyman had a well of anecdotes 
relating to prominent Southern men ; and Pinckney, 
Hayne, Calhoun, McDuffie, Paudolph, Longstreet, with 
other distinguished personages, were brought as vividly 
before Harry’s mind as if he saw them in j^ro^pria ptrsoym. 
He was an admirer of Southern character, the hospitality 
and other good traits of which he longed to see and enjoy 
upon its native soil. This sentiment fell from his lips 
before they had concluded their dessert, and was eagerly 
seized upon by Mr. Davis, his new Southern friend, who 
(frankly admitting that it was his sincere desire to draw 
him away from the convivial associates by which he was 
surrounded, and which would infallibly ruin him, if con- 
tinued) thereupon obtained his promise to accompany him 
to the Sulphur Springs in Virginia, and thence to the 
Carolinas and the beautiful scenery of Georgia. Harry 
Price saw at once the advantages of this offer, to him a 


‘ \ 

THE THREE APPRENTICES. 187 

tyro in travel, by a gentleman so well known and respected 
in the South, and so instructive as a companion. He was 
impatient to start at once, but the well-pleased clergyman 
cautioned him to be more deliberate, and not act upon 
mere impulse. Harry replied that he was now his own 
master : he had no friends to consult, and his affairs would 
not require his presence at home for several months. It 
was finally arranged, that after devoting two or thrco 
days in showing him the scenery and sights in and around 
Boston, Harry should pack his trunk and set out with 
Mr. Davis upon his tour. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Wounded Man — The Breakfast at Godwin’s — ^Beappearance of 
John Hard — The public feeling against Nathan — Giles is down 
upon the Newspapers. 

A WEEK had passed since Edwin had received his 
wound. It had been dressed and set by Dr. Lewis, at 
the hospital, from which he was immediately afterwards 
transferred to the dwelling of Giles Godwin. The young 
man was now so far restored that he was able to ride out. 

* The day is damp : you will not venture out, I suppose, 
Edwin,’ said Mr. Godwin, one morning at the breakfast 
table. 

* O dear me, suz, no ; I hope not, brother dear I’ 
exclaimed the very short corpulent lady who presided at the 
silver urn, from which ever and anon she dispensed the 


188 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

fragrant beverage^to her brother, twin-sister, and Mr. 
Fairbanks, who composed the whole company present. 

* Gracious sake! it’s so damp!’ exclaimed the fat twin, 
rolling up her eyes like two moons. 

‘ Still I must go out,’ said Edwin ; ‘ I promised Nathan 
I would visit him to-day.’ 

* But you stop so long there, and those dreadful cells 
are so damp!’ said the sister at the urn. 

‘Dreadful damp, poor dear!’ sighed the twin, who was 
not only a duplicate, but an echo, of the other. 

‘ I wonder, for my part, that Nathan Mudge don’t 
catch his death, there !’ said the sister, who by virtue of 
having entered this sublunary sphere ten minutes in ad- 
vance of ‘ Betsey,’ regarded herself as the elder. 

‘ I wonder he donH catch his death!’ echoed the duplicate. 

‘ We ought not to complain, sisters dear,’ said Giles, 
passing his cup. ‘ The sheriff has permitted us to make 
the poor lad’s cell as comfortable as the circumstances will 
admit of. Still, Edwin, you ought not to pass so much 
time there until your arm is fully restored.’ 

‘ It is about well, sir,’ said Edwin, raising the wounded 
limb from the sling in which it rested, with some difficulty. 

‘ Not yet, you see,’ said Giles, ‘ and you must let me 
go in your stead, to see Nathan to-day. Sally, have yon 
any little nicety to send to him ?’ 

‘He positively refuses any nourishment beyond the 
coarse prison fare,’ interposed Edwin. 

‘ He is as penitent and self-abused,’ added Giles, ‘ as if 
really guilty of the terrible crime of which he has been so 
unjustly convicted. I really think that the vehement 
reproaches which Nathan is cor.tinually uttering against 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 189 

himself, have confirmed the impression which people 
have that the verdict was just. It was probably some 
such outburst of self-condemnation, in general terms, that 
gave rise to the report in the Times^ yesterday, that he 
had made a ‘ confession/ 

‘ Oh, them penny papers exclaimed sister Sallie. 

^ I think as much said the twin, stopping her cup on 
its way to her little mouth, to echo in time. 

‘ I must caution Nathan,^ said Edwin. *But his re- 
morse for his misconduct is morbidly acute. So far from 
repining against his impending fate, he constantly declares 
that he deserves his doom.^ 

‘ Alas, poor lad ! Is there no way to save him, dear 
Giles V 

‘ Is there no way left to save him, brother V 

‘ The Saviour he most needs/ replied Giles, evading his 
sister’s inquiry, ‘ both for his eternal peace and his present 
consolation, is Jesus Christ, the great propitiator for the 
sins of all who will repent and believe.’ 

‘ Amen,’ said both the ladies, devoutly. 

‘ Susan took a few religious books with her when she 
went with me, yesterday,’, said Edwin, ‘ but her brother 
told her that of all the books in the world, he wanted only 
one, and that was his mother’’ s Bible? 

The servant came in just then — a black girl — the two 
old ladies were warm friends of the colored race. ‘ I didn’t 
ring, Rosy,’ said the elder sister at the urn, checking her. 

‘ Xo ma’am, I knows yer didn’t,’ said Rosy, exposing a 
mouthful of white teeth ; ‘ but here’s the milkman with 
his bill. The quarter’s up, sare.’ 

‘ Ask him to come in,’ said Giles, taking out a much 


190 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

worn and very capacious pocket-book, as he turned from 
the table. 

‘ Jerooshy I All a-eatinl’ said the milkman, as he stuck 
a head, covered with cowlicks, into the doorway. ‘ I’ve 
took a bad time. Square V 

^ Oh no ; come in,’ replied Giles, ‘ come in. So th® 
quarter’s up ? Well, you sell good milk, and it’s a plea- 
sure to pay your bill.’ 

^ Well, I wouldn’t ask you for ’t, Square, the very day 
it’s due, you know, but I’m of age to-day.’ 

* Are you, indeed ?’ said the old man, with a pleasant 
smile upon his benevolent face. ‘ Then we must make you 
a present, I suppose,’ and suiting the action to the word, 
he presented a gold piece to the man, whom our readers 
have already recognized as John Hard. - 

No, I thank ye,’ replied John ; ‘ it’s my turn to treat 
to-day. I have given our customers a quart extra, all 
round, this morning.’ 

‘I declare, you’re a generous fellow 1’ said Giles, ‘and 
I beg you will accept this remembrance.’ With these 
words, he placed the money in Mr. Hard’s huge red right 
hand. 

‘ Jerooshy 1 what kind o’ money is it any how?’ inquired 
John, and eyeing the coin with some curiosity. 

‘ It is a sovereign,’ replied Giles. 

‘ Pesky nation I Take it back. I never owned a so- 
vereign before I was free, and I swow to gracious I’m sure 
I wont now,^ said the patriotic Mr. Hard, who prided 
himself somewhat upon his indomitable republicanism. 

‘ I see you are a true democrat, Mr. Hard,’ said Giles 
smiling. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 191 

* To the back-bone/ rejoined J ohn, proudly. ^ I dwi^t 
see why them monarchal things (pointing to the sove^ 
reign which he had laid upon the table) are allowed to 
cii-culate in this republic. What head’s that on the coin, 
sir?’ 

* The head of Georgy Third,’ replied Mr. Godwin, re- 
placing the gold piece in his pocket. 

* Do tell!’ exclaimed Mr. Hard, ‘ I should like to see it 
again!’ Giles handed the coin to him once more, and after 
scanning it for a moment, John broke out in an apostro- 
phe to the face : ‘ Oh, ye old lunatic I Ain’t ye ashamed 
of ye-self?’ and then called George Third seriously to 
account for his tyranny toward the Colonies ; and ended 
with the exclamation, ‘ Hadn’t ye better try the Stamp. 
Act now, old feller !’ 

‘ Gently, gently !’ said Edwin, whom he had not before 
noticed. 

‘ Hello !’ cried John Hard, looking at him inquiringly 
from head to foot ; ^ Mister, I don’t know who ye air, but 
ye look pooty much like — say, what’s the matter ye’r 
arm ?’ 

‘ It has been broken by a pistol shot,’ replied Mr. Fair- 
banks. 

‘ Pesky nation ! Ye don’t say ? I thought so. I 
guess yer the very man I see shot in the auction-room. I 
never see yer before nor since. When that' miserable rap- 
scallion fired on ye, I chased him out of the auction-room, 
and — ’ 

‘I remember you, my dear sir !’ exclaimed Edwin, ris-' 
ing hastily, and extending to John Hard his unhurt hand. 


192 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

‘ Where is he ? Where’s Braxton ? Did he escape ?— 
Answer, for heaven’s sake I answer quickly I’ 

‘ Jerooshy ! how fast ye talk I’ said John. 

‘ Sit down, sit down, my dear sir I’ cried Edwin, pulling 
him into a seat ; ‘ and tell me all ye know about that 
man.’ 

Mr. Hard then narrated his adventures upon the occa- 
sion in question, to his small but excited audience, and 
when he hM concluded, was prevailed upon to eat some 
breakfast. We say ‘ some breakfast,’ but the fact was 
John cleared off everything before him ; for rising at two 
in the morning, and working ever since, had increased an 
appetite, never small under any circumstances, to an enor- 
mousness that made the colored Rose utter sundry excla- 
mations in an under tone, about ‘ small mouthf nils' and 
express an opinion that ‘ thzrt would he a great sight of 
that toast left P To Giles and his sisters, it was a pleasure 
to see him eat. Before he had finished his meal. Rose 
took the liberty to remark to the cook, in the kitchen, that 
that man in there ^must he hoUow way down to his knees.' 

At the conclusion of the repast, Edwin took John Hard 
into his own room, for a little private conversation, while 
Giles Godwin, who always had family worship before the 
morning meal (regarding it as but reasonable service for 
the creature to begin the day with adoration of the Crea- 
tor), received from the hands of Rose, as usual after break- 
fast, the Daily Advertiser ^ well aired, and adjusting his 
spectacles, commenced the perusal of its well printed and 
very solid columns. 

The sisters had gone up stairs to the chamber of Mrs. 
Mudge, their niece, and no one was in the room with the 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 193 

old gentleman except Rose, who was clearing away the 
dishes, when suddenly he exclaimed involuntarily, as some- 
thing met his eye that gave him pain. 

' Tut, tut, tut I It is too bad, too bad 
Rose was startled, and rolled around towards her old 
master the whites of her eyes ; thinking that he alluded to 
a clash of the china, with a fear of breakage, in which 
domestic art she thoroughly excelled. 

‘ Not break, massa ; never fear I Not break,^ said she, 
and bore away triumphantly a large waiter laden with the 
fragile ware, to the kitchen. 

. ‘ Too bad, too bad repeated Giles, mournfully, with- 
out noticing the girPs remark, and laying down the news- 
paper, wiped his spectacles thoughtfully with his silk hand- 
kerchief, and replaced them in their venerable iron case. 
He had been reading a communication bearing the well- 
known initials, and impress, of a highly-respectable and 
influential occasional contributor. The weight of its opi- 
nions and arguments, increased by the approved wisdom 
of the writer, all bore with ponderous force upon the con- 
victed incendiary, Nathan Mudge. The venerable author 
of it — one of Boston^s merchant' princes — ^had, some days 
before, replied calmly but cogently, to some objections 
which had been raised by another writer in the same 
journal, to the justice of convicting a man of a capital 
crime mainly upon presumptive proof, ‘ as in the recent trial 
of Mudge.^ The first correspondent had answered the re- 
ply, and the merchant, in his rejoinder (just read by Giles) 
had been unwittingly betrayed by his warmth in argu- 
ment, notwithstanding he was a kind-hearted man, into a 
certain sort of zeal, to corroborate the testimony, and 

9 


194 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

prove more irrefragibly if possibly, the entire certainty of 
Nathan’s guilt. So many cases of incendiarism had been 
committed with impunity of late, and so many guilty of 
other heinous crimes, had escaped through the meshes of 
the law, under the plea of insanity, or by the ingenuity or 
eloquence of counsel (less scrupulous than IVIr. Fairbanks) 
that the public was hungry for a capital conviction. Giles 
knew that this was the case, and that the writer’s earnest 
expostulation against ‘a mawkish sympathy for capital 
offenders,’ would meet with a full response in the public 
sentiment. He was leaving the room dejectedly, when 
suddenly reminded that he had left the newspaper lying 
upon the table, he retraced his steps, seized the journal, 
folded it up and stowed it away carefully in one of his 
capacious skirt pockets. ‘ Here comes poor Susan,’ said he 
to himself : ‘ I would not have her see it for the world!’ 

* Is the morning paper here, sir ?’ said Susan, glancing 
first upon the table, and then into the chairs. 

‘The — ^the — the Times, ^ stammered Giles, internally 
quite flurried, ‘the Times may be in the parlor, my 
dear.’ 

‘ The Advertiser would do,’ said Susan, ‘ I almost fear 
to look into some of the papers now,’ and she shuddered 
as her mind reverted to the erroneous announcement in one 
of them that her brother had confessed to the awful cyime 
of which he had been convicted. ‘ Our poor afi^cted 
patient is sufficiently restored to listen,’ she added, ‘ and 
I thought that to read a few items of the daily news would 
divert her mind from her profound melancholy.’ 

‘ No, no, no !’ cried Giles, with an impetuosity quite 
extraordinary in him, ‘ don’t read any newspapers to my 


THE THREE APPRENTICES 


195 


daughter, and don^t read them yourself. I declare,^ he 
added sotto voce^ ‘ I’m half disposed to wish that there 
never was a newspaper published, although 1 am a, printer 
that say it I’ 

* I trust I have not given any offence, dear sir 1’ said 
Susan, with mingled surprise and anxiety, laying her hand 
affectionately upon his shoulder and looking down upon his 
face, for she was taller than he. 

‘ Offence V replied the old man, in the sweet tone of 
voice peculiar to him ; ‘ offence, dear Susan ? Did you 
ever offend me? No, no, my good girl, you are as incapa- 
ble of it, as I am of being offended with you. Are you 
not a daughter to me ? Yes, doubly so. For Edwin is 
my adopted son, and you are to be his wife!’ 

Susan’s wan countenance was betrayed into a momen- 
tary color, but it fled like a flash again, and left her paler 
than before. 

‘ It is impossible!’ she barely articulated. It escaped 
Giles’ ear, and she was content that it should, for the 
theme which, with a brighter complexion to her brother’s 
affairs, might have been a pleasant one, was now painful 
to her. 

‘ Eschew the newspapers, my dear girl, for a twelve- 
month, at least,’ said Giles, ‘ and keep them out of my 
poor dear Kate’s way. They must, as a matter of course, 
contain occasional allusions to our unhappy matter — I 
mean Nathan’s — and we don’t want to see them.’ 

* I see, dear sir, the wisdom of your suggestion, and 
will comply implicitly with your -wish in respect to it,’ said 
Susan, gratefully. 

‘ That’s a good girl,’ said* Giles, putting on a spencer 


196 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


overcoat, and his broad-brimmed, well-worn hat, ^nd bid- 
ding her good-bye, ‘ and I will take care that no more 
come into the house.^ He alluded to the newspapers he 
was in the custom of paying for, and he forthwith went 
and gave directions to have them left by the carrier at his 
office. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

Love’s Sacrifice— Sisan proposes to relinquish her Attorney, and 
drop the smt — The Protest — An eminent Thief-Taker is intro- 
d^ed — Strange Incident. 

‘Yes, it is impossible!’ said Susan finnly, yet sadly, as 
upon the departure of Mr. Godwin, her mind reverted to 
his remark upon Edwin Eairbanks’ intention of marrying 
her. She stood in an alcove window of the room in which 
she had been conversing with Giles, but saw none of the 
objects in the street, not even the tall figure of John 
Hard, as he sprang with more than his wonted agility 
into his cart, and drove away. Her eyes were fixed upon 
vacancy. ‘ I will not disgrace him. His prospects are 
bright, and in his new profession the path to fame and 
elevated station invites his footsteps. He will have ample 
facilities for contracting a splendid alliance.’ The tears 
came like crystals into her beautiful eyes, and broke into 
gems upon their long lashes. ‘ Why should I weep ? I 
ought rather to rejoice for his sake. Why should I wish 
him to cloud his bright career by marrying the sister of 
no, Nathan, my dear, dear brother, I will not apply 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. IQ? 

that hateM, dreadful word to you I But Edwin, dearest,’ 
said she, with deep emotion, ‘ sincerely as I love you, I 
must resign you to another!’ 

‘ Xo, Susan, no,’ said one who had approached her unob- 
served, and overheard the exclamation which had involun- 
tarily escaped her ; ' you shall not resign me, nor will I 
ever suffer you to retract the vows you once solemnly 
plighted 1’ 

^Edioin here!’ said Susan, blushing deeply, but extend- 
ing her hand. He imprinted a kiss upon it, and with 
gentle rudeness compelling her to be seated, addressed her 
in accents of the purest and most devoted affection. * I 
can divine all that has been passing in your mind for the 
last five minutes, Susan,’ said he, ‘and appreciate the 
high-minded impulse which has nevertheless led you to an 
erroneous conclusion. Susan, you over-rate me and my 
prospects, and unjustly depreciate yourself ! I am only a 
young attorney, with neither property, nor fame, nor 
friends to recommend me. You know that my beg innin gs 
were of the most humble character.’ 

‘You speak of the past, Edwin,’ replied Susan, ‘but 
how different the glovring future opening before you!’ 

‘ Fair as it promises, it would be devoid of every ray 
of light without you to ‘share my successes!’ exclaimed 
the young man with fervor. Susan Mudge, herself, could 
not have denied that Edwin Fairbanks was a fine-looking 
fellow at that moment ! The unmistakable impress of 
Nature’s nobility was stamped upon his fair expanse of 
brow, his firm, well-chiselled mouth, his broad manly chin, 
and classic throat ; and shone in the deep, deep sea of 
his large, quiet, expressive eye, eloquent of interior purity 


198 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

and sterling worth. He was a man to love ; not for a 
day, but for all time,^ and Susan was justly proud of him. 
Never before, however, had he appeared to her so abso- 
lutely superior to all created beings, and indispensable to 
her existence, as now, with her hand pressed in his own, 
and his beaming eyes fixed tenderly upon her, he reiterated 
the assurance of his unalterable affection for her. ‘ Oh, 
how sweet, how precious above all price, can those little, 
easy human utterances, called words, sometimes appear P 
Susan did not say so, but the thought vibrated in her 
heart a strain of melody. Then, like the cloud which sud- ^ 
denly overcasts the summer sky, shades the fair landscape, 
and hushes into silence every little bird, enlivening, with 
his cheerful notes, the wood and field, came again her 
self-sacrificing resolve. 

* No, Edwin, ^ she said sadly, but with firmness (though 
it cost her an internal struggle, not the less intensely pain- 
ful because momentary), ‘ you are generous to a fault — a 
fault, because you are ready chivalrously to sacrifice your 
best earthly interests for me — but I will not take advan- 
tage of it. Go ; you are free : I absolve you from all 
fancied obligations to me, and you must seek another more 
fortunate, and better fitted to advance and share your 
prosperity.^ 

‘ Susan I’ replied Edwin, reproachfully, ‘ can you think 
so meanly of me V 

‘ I can never believe you capable of any sentiments but 
those most high-minded and honorable,’ replied Susan, 

* nor can I consent to entertain any less worthy in my 
own bosom. It is this that compels me to refuse to pur- 
chase my own happiness to your injury.’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


199 


* If you love me, Susan, say no more of this I Aban- 
don this unnatural resolve!’ 

‘ No, Edwin, whatever be the sacrifice, I must adhere 
to it, for — for your own permanent happiness demands itl’ 

‘ You have ceased to love me 1 Your long-continued 
anguish of heart for the misfortunes of your brother, and 
the violence done to your love for him, has destroyed an 
affection of more recent growth, and the seeming sacrifice 
you now propose may be only the result of your indiffe- 
rence,’ said her lover. 

‘ Oh, what injustice you do me, Edwin 1’ said Susan, 
vehemently. ‘ But you cannot think so. You know well 
(alas! too well), I love you as fondly as ever one human 
being loved another !’ The fair girl colored deeply as she 
arrested her earnest eyes seconding her impassioned asseve- 
ration, and veiled them beneath their silken lashes. For- 
tunately for perfect etiquette, the lovers sat near the win- 
dow, or Edwin would certainly haye saluted the ruby lips 
which had uttered, with such evident sincerity, a sentence 
so satisfactory. 

Just then, the door-bell rang ; and in a few moments 
Rose came in, and announced IVIr. Clapp at the street 
door. 

^ Shew him into the parlor,’ said Edwin. 

* Yessar,’ answered the black diamond, and with a big 
smile beaming all over her, disappeared. 

^ It is the officer of police whom have had for some 
days on the track of Thomas Braxton,’ said Fairbanks. 

‘ God grant that he brings you information of the ar- 
rest of that fiend !’ exclaimed Susan eagerly, as she arose 
from her seat. 


200 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

‘ I pray so too, with all my heart I’ cried the young 
attorney, earnestly. 

‘ You will not condemn me, Edwin, if I should be an 
eavesdropper ? I shall be in an agony of suspense until 
I hear the result of the pohceman’s efforts 

‘ Dear Susan, I sympathize with your anxiety, but you 
shall know all in a few minutes,^ replied Edwin, and left 
the room. 

Without wearying the. reader with a detail of Edwin 
Fairbanks’ interview with the famous thief-taker, we will 
only state, that the officer communicated the intelhgence 
that, though he had thoroughly searched all the haunts of 
the low and lawless in Boston, and had discovered traces 
of Braxton in and around the ‘ Black Sea,’ he had not 
succeeded in finding the villain ; nor could he obtain any 
intelligence of him from police correspondents and agents 
in New York and the principal cities throughout the 
Dnited States. 

‘ You will still persevere in the search, I trust ?’ said 
Edwin to the officer. 

‘No, sir, except incidentally, as my multifarious com- 
missions may make it convenient. I have to-day a call to 
Canada, and now ought to be on my way,’ replied Mr. 
Clapp, moving towards the door. 

‘ My dear sir, you must not abandon the business at 
this crisis !’ said Edwin, earnestly. ‘ If money can com- 
pensate you for your trouble, I am authorized by Mr. God- 
win to allow you a thousand dollars for your personal 
expenses in New York and the principal cities to the 
South, including New Orleans.' 

‘ Other engagements will not admit of it, sir,’ replied 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


201 


tte officer ; * and to be candid with yon, I think Braxton 
has probably shipped on a long cruise.^ 

‘ !N"athan Madge is to be sentenced this day week. It is 
easy to foresee what that sentence will be, unless we avert 
it by the arrest of the real criminal in the meantime. Sir, 
you must not relinquish your labors in our behalf 

‘ I am compelled to do so, sir ; and even now ought to 
be on my way to Vermont,^ said the Fouche, looking at 
his watch. 

‘ The life of an innocent man depends upon the continued 
prosecution of the search ; do I understand that you now 
abandon it as impracticable V 

‘ Yes sir,^ replied the officer, decidedly, for he was in a 
great hurry to be gone. 

‘ Who, then, shall we find to prosecute this long-con- 
tinued and almost hopeless inquiry?^ exclaimed Edwin, 
despairingly. 

‘ Mel^ exclaimed a strange voice. * I will hunt him to 
the corners of the earth. The earth shall not hide him, 
though he burrow in it I The sea itself shall not bear 
him beyond the reach of my avenging hand I The world 
has not hiding-places enough to conceal him from me I 
Art has no disguise so impenetrable, but I will tear its 
mask from the fiend^s face.’ 

This was said in a low, earnest, yet wild way, by one 
who, with her hand upon his arm, fixed her black eyes, 
gleaming with latent insanity, upon his astonished coun- 
tenance. It was poor Kate, the wife of the convicted 
incendiary. Her hair, black as the raven’s wing, extended 
to her snow-white morning-dress, and covered her shoul- 
ders. There were no shoes upon her feet. She had 

9 * 


202 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

escaped the vigilance of Betsey Godwin, hcf annt, in the 
absence of Susan, and not fully restored to reason, descend- 
ed to the hall during the interview of Mr. Fairbanks with 
the ofl&cer. Pausing at the parlor door, which stood ajar, 
she had overheard a portion of the conversation, and 
entered the room unobserved. Both the gentlemen were 
a little startled by the apparition, but perceiving in a mo- 
ment, with his usual acuteness, an explanation of it in her 
glittering eyes, the constable silently withdrew from the 
room, and left the house ; not without a pang of pity for 
the afflicted family. Hearing him depart, Susan entered 
the parlor quickly, quite anxious to learn the substance 
of his communication. Of course, she was greatly sur- 
prised and shocked, 'to see her patient there, and resisting 
Edwin’s efforts to induce her to return to her room, 
Susan united her solicitations to her lover’s. 

‘ If I could take some other form, or follow him invisi- 
bly,’ said Kate, thoughtfully, still brooding upon the pur- 
suit of the fugitive, and not heeding the others. 

* That is true,’ said Edwin, humoring her aberration. 

* Come, let us go to your room, where, with Susan, we 
may fix upon a plan.’ 

^ A plan ?’ cried Kate ; ‘ I have a thousand ! My brain, 
my poor aching brain, is full of them. Come, and I will 
tell you twenty!’ 

With this, Kate led the way rapidly to her own cham- 
ber, where they found the corpulent Betsey asleep over a 
good book. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


203 


CHAPTER XXY. 

THE SENTENCE. 

Another week passed, and the day arrived upon which 
Nathan Mudge was to receive his sentence. The excite- 
ment, daily catered to by the newsmongers, had been 
unexpectedly augmented, within a day or two, by the 
burning of a barn in Charlestown, by an unknown incen- 
diary, who had first tried, by anonymous threateniugs, to 
extort money from the owner, a timid old man, who (the 
scoundrel probably hoped) would be glad to save his pro- 
perty by a donation. Like a man of sense, the owner 
refused to buy the proffered immunity, and his building 
was burnt. As soon as a person submits to be plundered 
by any one, male or female, in order to save either pro- 
perty or reputation, that moment he becomes the veriest 
slave in the world. Meet such exactions always at the 
beginning with a blunt refusal, and never yield a hair’s- 
. breadth to them : if you do, your life will be rendered 
miserable. 

Again there arose many voices, loud and fierce, for the 
summary punishment of incendiaries. It was a most un- 
' fortunate thing for Nathan, and when, in merely passing 
from the jail-office door to the carriage which was to con- 
vey him once more to that abhorred court-room, he saw a 
Crowd of human beings, whom he felt he could have 
hugged with affection to his heart, eyeing him with looks 
of indignation and scorn, he felt as if it would have been 
a mercy to have had the earth open and swallow him. He 
had borne, through years of degraded dissipation, with 


204 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OB 

the contempt and pride-galling pity of the world, and 
taken many buffets without complaint, but to be hated by 
his fellow-beings, wounded him far more deeply than any- 
thing else. His heart, notwithstanding all its sin, over- 
flowed with the milk of human kindness, and he would not 
have injured a dog to save himself from hanging. 

Edwin accompanied him, in the carriage, with the offi- 
cer, and endeavored to divert the profound despondency 
into which he fell as soon as he was seated in the vehicle. 

‘ Kate, I think, is much better this morning,^ said he to 
Nathan. ‘ We did not think it prudent to grant her re- 
quest for an interview with you, lest the excitement should 
cause a relapse ; but she has appeared quite rational for 
two days past, and has recovered her strength wonderfully.' 

‘ Shall I see her ?’ cried Nathan, with emotion, and 
lifted his hand to take her miniature from his bosom, that 
he might again gaze upon the counterfeit resemblance of 
his wife. His handcuffs arrested the motion, and with a 
sigh, his head sunk upon his breast. 

‘ We did not regard it advisable that she should be 
present, in court, to-day,' said Edwin, sympathizing sin- 
cerely with his friend. 

‘ No, no,' replied Nat, ‘ I am a poor, broken-down, dis- 
pirited wretch, at the best, and could not control my feel- 
ings, if she were here : but let me see her, if possible, 
immediately upon my return to my cell to-day I' 

* I will endeavor to arrange it so,' said Edwin. ‘ She 
speaks of you, in the most endearing terms, a thousand 
times a day,' 

The felon's heart rose to his throat, his under lip 
quivered, and his eyes, red with penitential weeping 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 205 

through the long, lone nights in his solitary cell, again 
filled with tears. 

* Do these streets look familiar to you, Nathan?’ said 
Edwin, with a view to glide to a less painful topic. 

‘ Oh, yes, indeed I’ replied Nat, swallowing his recent 
emotion, and speaking with more vivacity. ‘ I have play- 
ed in them a thousand times. They have rung with my 
laughter. There, where you see that block of houses, there 
used to be a small pond ; in winter great for skating, and 
in summer, prime for sailmg our little vessels or floating on 
a board. What good times we used to have 1 In that 
house — ^the old wooden one with the gambrel roof — 
Charley Fennell used to live. He was a clever feller I 
He and I used to play together before we got into jacket 
and trousers. Yonder, where that row is, used to be a 
pasture. What bat-and-ball I’ve had on that spot ! 
Down there is Hawkins-street school. I used to go to 
Derne-street. Bowdoin-street, here, on the right, was first 
rate for coasting, but Hancock-street was better. I had 
a sled that — well it would beat anything you ever saw I 
That tremendous big brick building, it’s a private residence 
called the Kirk Boott,’ continued he, pointing to a stately 
mansion, since converted into the “ Revere'^ House. ‘ My 
mother — ’ 

Nathan paused, his vivacity vanished, and he relapsed 
into sadness. In a few minutes after he ceased in 14^ 
reminiscences of childhood, the carriage arrived at the 
court-house, and amid another jam of expectant people, 
watching sullenly for his appearance, he was assisted from 
the vehicle by the officer and Edwin, and conducted into 
the court-room. A groan of hatred and derision followed 
him. 


206 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

‘ Pesky nation !’ cried a well-known voice in the crowd, 
‘ ye may groan yer throats out as holler as a barrel, but it 
won^t make that poor feller guilty A contemptuous 
laugh succeeded. John Hard (it was his honest face that 
appeared above the rest) made no rejoinder, but contented 
himself with treading on the feet of some of them, as, 
brushing his way through, in spite of impediment, he en- 
tered the court-house. 

The scene within was a repetition of the one before ren- 
dered in our narrative of the trial — the same densely-pack- 
ed galleries and lobbies ; the same venerable men upon the 
bench ; the same large, portly, handsome sheriff in the 
blue coat and buff vest ; the same tall, snuff-colored con- 
stable and officers ; the same row of newspaper reporters. 
The prisoner’s wife, the cynosure of all the eyes on the 
former occasion, was not present. That was a relief to 
Nathan. His sister Sue, and Giles Godwin, sat nearer to 
him than then, and Edwin Fairbanks was with the other 
counsel at a little table within the bar, between the dock 
and the bench. After some legal discussion (in which 
Edwin did his best for the prisoner) and certain prelimi- 
naries common to all such occasions, the chief justice called 
upon Nathan to rise, and say why sentence should not be 
pronounced against him. 

Nathan arose, and for the first time stood erect, and 
calmly confronted the bench, the bar and the people. A 
solemn silence reigned throughout the room. 

‘ God, who knoweth all hearts, and the words of the 
mouth before we utter them, bear me witness that I speak 
the truth,’ said he, in a firm, manly voice, that thrilled 
every heart. ‘ I am innocent of the abhorred crime of 
which I have been convicted. I had no hand in the burn- 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 20t 

ing of Giles Godwin’s house. I had no cause of offence 
against that good old man, and never entertained any. 
Why should I ? What was laid so much stress upon in 
my trial — I mean a fancied sense of injury felt by me 
because Mr. Godwin discarded his daughter upon her 
unhappy marriage with me, and denied me his house — was 
utterly unfounded. I never cherished resentment against 
any human being in my life — no, not for an hour — ^much 
less against my kind old master. With all my dissipation, 
I have many sins to answer for, but not that ! True, I 
was present at the fatal fire. [Here the reporters noted 
down that there was great excitement in the court-room.] 
True, I had accompanied Tom Braxton to the spot, and 
held the lantern, as was sworn by one of the witnesses. 
Probably, too, I was the man whom the watchman testifies 
he discovered flying from the scene. But let me tell you, 
sir, and all of the gentlemen, how it was.’ 

‘ Order, there in the gallery !’ cried an officer to a sea 
of faces rocking and murmuring like the ocean. 

Nat then related, in his own simple, straight-forward 
way, all the incidents of the night in question, and how he 
had only accompanied Tom to the house to obtain his 
child, and what his horror and indignation had been upon 
discovering that Braxton had intentionally fired the house. 
In short, he related all that he knew of the circumstances; 
but, alas ! to incredulous ears. 

The chief justice briefly recapitulated the damning proof 
against him — far too weighty to be overborne by a cun- 
ning tale — and proceeded solemnly to review his mis-spent 
life, and appeal to his feelings for a true repentance of his 
misdeeds, especially this last dreadful one (the legitimate 


208 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OF 

result of the others), which had led to the destruction of 
two innocent persons, a mother and child, by the most 
horrible of deaths, and had now demanded his own and con- 
signed him to an ignominous end. ‘ I now sentence you, 
Nathan Mudge,’ said the chief justice, in conclusion, ‘ to 
be removed hence to the jail in Leveret-street ; there to 
be kept securely until the 6th day of December next, upon 
which day, between the hours of 10 o’clock, A. M., and 1 
P. M., you shall be hung by the neck until you are dead. 
And may the Lord, in his infinite grace, have mercy on 
your soul I’ 

* Amen I’ gasped Easy Nat; his distended eyes fixed 
upon the chief justice, his mouth partly open, and his whole 
face and figure like one petrified by what he had heard. 

Immediately the wretched man was surrounded by 
weeping friends. Ah 1 how keen may be the anguish of 
the human breast 1 and how those hearts bled for him! 
But he saw them not. He was like one entranced ; and 
there he stood, with straining eyeballs still fixed upon the 
place where, a few minutes since, those terrible words had 
been pronounced against him — him ! The judges, inwardly 
contending with emotions of pity, had left the bench, and, 
with a furtive glance at the prisoner, were passing out of 
the court-room, when Nathan was suddenly aroused to 
consciousness by the rude talons of the tall, snuff-colored 
functionary, to whom we have more than once alluded. 

‘ Hold your hands here,’ said the officer, bluntly, and 
adding, as if it were only a piece of business information, 
while he enclosed his wrists in the humiliating irons, 
' You are to be hung the first week in December.’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


209 


CHAPTER XXYI. 

Mysterious Disappearance of Kate— The Letter— D’Ors ay at Homo 

— BEis Store in Broadway — The Burglary — Braxton again at his 

old tricks — Kate in New York. 

When Giles Godwin handed Susan from his carriage 
upon their return home from the scene in the court-room, 
faintly described in the previous chapter, she was so deadly 
pale that he feared she would fall, helpless, upon the door- 
steps. At the portal, they were received by the two 
Misses Godwin, his fair, round sisters, with the exclama- 
tion, 

* Where’s Kate ?’ * Oh, yes, where is Kate I will she 
return wdth Edwin V 

‘We have not seen Kate,’ replied Susan, recovering her 
strength. ‘What do you mean?’ 

‘ She has not left the house, surely ?’ said the old man, 
stepping in with his fair charge, and followed by the twins. 

‘Oh, goodness-graciousness’ sake!’ cried the sisters 
wringing their hands, in much excitement. ‘What can 
have become of the poor creature V 

‘ Isn’t she in her room V inquired her father with ill- 
concealed anxiety. 

‘Oh, no, no! dear brother,’ said the two ladies weep- 
ing. ‘ When we went to her room it was locked, and no 
key in the door. This was shortly after you left, this 
morning. We both called to her through the key-hole 
until we were hoarse, and stooping down had almost 
deprived us of the use of our limbs.’ 


210 


NEW ENGiAND BOYS 


OR 


‘Never mind your limbs/ said Giles. ‘Didn^t Kate 
answer you V 

‘ No, brother Giles ; not a syllable. Then we got 
Rose to holler to her until she was black in the face, poor 
girll’ 

‘ And still no answer V 

* Not a word, brother,^ replied one. • 

‘ Oh dear, not a wordP echoed the other. 

‘ It*'s very strange!^ ejaculated the distressed father. 

‘ I have a duplicate key,’ cried Susan (equally amazed 
and anxious) and ran out of the room. In a few moments 
they all met at the door of Kate’s chamber. Upon 
entering, they found it deserted. On the table lay a 
sealed note, addressed to her father. 

Giles opened it hurriedly, and with a tremulous hand. 
He feared the worst. 

‘ Dear me, where are my glasses ?’ said he, fumbling in 
the usual pocket for his spectacles. 

‘Use mine, dear,’ said Betsey, handing him hers. 

‘ No,’ said Giles ; ‘here, Susan, will you read it?’ 

Susan took the note eagerly, and read as follows : — 

‘ My dear, dear, father I And you, Susan and Edwin^ 
and my kind Aunts I 

‘ Do not be alarmed on account of my abrupt departure 
in your absence. I am restored to health, and am entirely 
able to take care of myself. I have something to do of 
vital importance to my dear husband’s safety and my own 
happiness, always inseparable from his. I go to execute 
the high behests of duty. God will shield me : God will 
prosper me. My poor shattered brain has been wander- 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 211 

ing in time past, but now, nerved by a sublime resolve, it 
is entirely rational. I shall be absent, dear father, three 
or four weeks, perhaps, but will write to you. Susan, I 
have taken my money out of the drawer, and left in its 
•place a letter to my poor Xat. Please deliver it with 
your own hands, and kiss him for me. It is wet with my 
tears, but he will love it all the better for that. May 
God bless you, my dear father and friends,- for your 
kindness to Kate. 

Farewell r 

The note dropped from the hands of Susan, and she 
looked in mute surprise at the old man. Giles was deeply 
moved, for Kate was his only child, and, like Jeptha of old, 
he loved her ‘ passing well.^ Still, the letter had relieved 
his mind of a certain dark and fearful foreboding which 
fell like a portentous shadow upon it when the disappear- 
ance of his daughter was first announced to him ; and he 
thanked God it was no worse. He had whispered the 
thought to no one, but Kate had so often uttered a wish 
to be dead, that he was for a moment terrified with the 
idea of self-destruction. 

‘ My poor, dear brother,^ cried one of the sisters, laying 
her hand upon his arm, while the tears made a break over 
her fat cheeks, ‘ your sorrows are greater than you can 
bear!’ 

* Yes, indeed, I am sure they are, poor creature!’ added 
the twin, equally tearful, and taking him by the button. 

* Be merciful unto me, O God,^ murmured Giles, in a 
low, earnest, reverential tone, repeating the words of king 
Davidi when in dire distress, ‘ he merciful unto me : for my 


212 


KEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


sovl trusteth in thee : yea , in the shadow of thy wings wiU 1 
make my refuge, until these calamities he overpast.^ 

Susan was of a true devotional spirit, and the words 
uttered by the patient old man, though she had read them 
a thousand times, never before appeared so precious. Ah I 
the consolations of the Bible! How priceless they are, 
and how ineffably poor and barren are all others, in com- 
parison. Throughout the sore trials of this afflicted family, 
their religious faith in the overruling and ad-wise Provi- 
dence of that Infinite Being who tempereth the wind to 
the shorn lamb, and without whose knowledge a sparrow 
cannot fall to the ground, had (with the exception of Kate, 
who, unfortunately, was careless of the things which most 
concerned her eternal peace) sustained them in an unfal* 
tering trust in Him who doeth aU things well, notwitl> 
standing that to the finite mind of short-sighted mortals 
his actions are iuscrutable. And though heavier sorrows 
were to succeed, and they were destined to see the 
wretched Xathan dragged to the ignominious scaffold, 
and him, who had long made one in their midst, yield up 
his miserable existence by the exaction of the law, their 
faith in Hod’s goodness never wavered. It was a sublime 
trust in the beneficence and wisdom of the great Disposer 
of human events ; and though at times the tears would 
have their way, and the tom heart would bleed, the bitter- 
ness of their anguish never failed to pass away before the 
sweet words of Holy TV" rit and confiding prayer. In short, 
they implicitly believed that ‘all things work together 
for good to those that love God.’ 

‘ What wiU you do, brother ?’ inquired one of the sisters. 

The twin made an effort to say something to the same 


THE THREE APPREX TICES. 


213 


effect, but either from emotion, or out of breath from the 
difficult exertion of stooping to pick up the letter that had 
dropped from the hands of Susan, she was speechless. 

‘We will consult Edwin,’ said Mr. Godwin, as he led 
the way out of Kate’s deserted room, and was followed by 
the sisters and Susan. ‘ He went with Nathan, but will 
probably soon return.’ 

And now, gentle reader, let us not follow them, but 
look a little into the causes and object of the departure of 
the wife of the man under sentence of death. 

D’Orsay’s licentious designs, at w'hich we hinted in our 
description of him upon his sleepless bed at the Tremont 
House, were rendered abortfr'i by the sickness of Kate 
and her seclusion beneath the roof of her father. With 
the abandonment of his unh^y purpose, there came into 
his little heart, and craving . place there, a feeling of pity 
for the poor woman. He returned to New York and re- 
sumed the charge of his increasing business, but its cares 
did not entirely absorb the interest he felt in her case. 
One night, a day or two after his return, D’Orsay sat at 
his book-keeper’s desk in an elegant tailoring establish- 
ment in Broadway. It was late, and he had suffered all 
his men, and even the boy, to retire some hours before — ■ 
saying that he had some letters to write, and would him- 
self lock up the store and take the keys ; greatly, of course, 
to the satisfaction of the ‘trotter,’ a graceless urchin, 
who w'anted to go to the circus, where he Occasionally ne- 
gotiated an engagement to hold the horses, and furnished 
lome of the supernumeraries with the plush off the ends of 
oroad-cloth to fringe their cotton frocks. 

The superb tailor ran his dainty white fingers through 


214 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


his perfumed hair, and glanced thoughtfully over several 
oblong documents. They were policies of insurance at 
various offices. He jotted down the amount of each, and 
footed them. ^Twenty-four thousand five hundred dol- 
lars,^ said he, and glanced around at his well-filled shelves. 

* It would pay very well, if it should burn.^ He mused 
for some moments in silence, then walked the length of 
his store two or three times, scanning the stock. ‘ I could 
replace, in a better store, the old goods with new styles, 
of my own importation. But it might be found out ! No, 
no,’ he added, going to his iron safe, and replacing the 
policies in their pigeon-hole, ‘ Honesty is the best policy.’ 
He looked happier for the suggestion, meretricious as it 
was, as he took an ivory-backed hair-brush from his 
drawer, and adjusted his glossy hair. As he did so, his 
thoughts reverted to Kate. ‘ If I should import,’ said 
he, ‘ I would not trust anybody to select for me, but 
would go myself. I flatter myself that my taste would 
take the town. Nobody, in our line, has done it yet, and 
an ‘ importing tailor’ would prove a card with the beau 
monde. Yes, I must go to London and Paris. At Bos- 
ton X may have an opportunity to do a real service to 
that interesting woman, Mrs. Mudge. It may be well for 
me to write to her father, that though I cannot stop to 
testify, on account of urgent business (ahem!) calling me 
immediately to England, I will make a written deposition 
of the facts within my knowledge. The deposition made 
before a justice, I can immediately go aboard, and sail for 
England ; and thus escape the awkwardness of a position 
on the stand. I will writQ now.’ D’Orsay sat down and 
penned a letter highly censorious against Braxton, and 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 215 

expressing a conviction, amounting to a certainty, of his 
guilt. He was expressing, on paper, a wish to see the 
villain suffer the penalty of his crimes, when suddenly he 
stopped himself with the words, ‘ What's that V 
The exclamation was elicited by a grating sound at the 
street door. D’Orsay pricked up his ears and listened. 
His tympanum, rendered keenly alive by fear (for it was 
past midnight, and he was a great coward), caught the 
sound of two voices whispering. The front was closed 
in, almost hermetically, by the shutters, and he could see 
nothing on the outside. Instinctively, he turned down 
the gas in the single burner that was lighted, left the let- 
ter unfinished, and walked cautiously to the door. He had 
locked it upon the departure of his men, and laid the key 
upon his desk. His knees refused their office, and trembled 
violently, as he distinctly heard something inserted in the 
lock from the outside. He had a rosewood sword-cane 
behind the door, and drawing the blade from the sheath, 
stood ready, a few moments, to run the intruder through 
— ^his love for his property gaining a temporary advantage 
over his trepidation. But as the pick-lock was inserted 
again and again, and filed repeatedly before it could be 
made to turn the bolt, he felt the temporary flush of 
courage ooze out at his finger ends, and sunk cowering 
behind one of the long counters. As he did so, he recol- 
lected that he had left his safe open, and it contained a 
considerable sum of money. His first iinpulse was to run 
thither, lock it, and secure the key ; but his limbs, palsied 
with fear, declined to serve him in this emergency ; and 
crouching down, with a great pang, and utterly helpless, 
all his senses seemed to resolve themselves into eyes and 


ears. 


216 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

Presently, the bolt turned in the lock, the door opened, 
and two men entered. D’Orsay could not distinguish 
their persons in the fiim light, although as they walked to 
the desk, they almost touched him in passing, but the iden- 
tity of one of them was put beyond doubt as soon as he 
turned up the gas. It was Tom Braxton ! ‘ The letticr I 
the letter thought D’Orsay, as he saw the whitish gray 
eye of the burglar glance at the writing which he had 
left unfinished. 

‘ The safe is openl^ said the other robber, a short, heavy, 
hairy-faced man, who appeared to take the lead. Tom, 
with more than one blasphemous expletive, continued look- 
ing at the letter. ‘ There can’t be much of the lashong 
here, or they’d locked it up,’ added the other, fumbling 
about the drawers. ‘ What have ye got there ? a bill of 
exchange ?’ 

‘ No, a letter of credit !’ replied Tom, and added inter- 
nally, with a great oath, that he would cut the writer’s 
throat some pleasant night. D’Orsay, at least, so con- 
strued the glare of his evil eye, as Braxton crushed the 
paper wrathfully in his hand, and thrust it into his 
hat. 

‘Here’s nothing but account books and papers!’ said 
the short, burly man, with an air of extreme disaffection. 

‘ Give me the notes of hand,’ said Tom, and taking a 
bunch bearing the interesting autographs of various fashion- 
able bloods about town, he held them over the gas light 
until they were consumed. ‘ For two cents. Jack, I’d set 
fire to this store I’ said he, still holding the burning frag- 
ments in his hand. 

‘ I wish you would,’ thought D’Orsay, ‘ if I were only 
safely out of it !’ v 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 21T 

* He wouldn’t care,’ said the man called Jack, ‘ for see 
his policies I He’s got a thumpin’ insurance upon it.’ 

‘ Give me the account books. Jack,’ said Tom, and draw- 
ing a bowie-knife, he amused himself maliciously for some 
minutes with cutting and slashing to pieces D’Orsay’s 
charges against his customers for a year or two back. 
This was an irreparable loss to the tailor, but he dared 
not to sigh even, much less to groan. 

‘ He’d have ’em take my life, would he ?’ muttered the 
ruffian — ‘ let him look out for his own!’ 

Not finding the money, the robbers then carefully 
selected a few pieces of the richest silk velvets and a piece 
of broadcloth, at the imminent risk of stumbling upon 
the trembling D’Orsay, who escaped them only by flying 
through the door, just in time to fill the arms of a watch- 
man, and unintentionally to prevent him from seizing 
Braxton and Jack, as they rushed by with their booty. 

‘ You’ve got the wrong one!’ cried the tailor. ^ Pursue 
those rascals, or they’ll escape !’ 

' A bird in the hand’s worth two in the bush,’ said the 
Charley, with a strong Irish accent. 

* Do you take me for a thief ?’ exclaimed D’Orsay. 

" A thafe ? by St. Patrick, nothing shorter !’ said the 
watchman. 

‘ Feel the cloth of my coat, sirrah !’ said D’Orsay. 

* Try the quality of the cloth in my pantaloons. There,, 
are you satisfied ? Do you think a thief would wear cloth 
as fine as that V 

‘ I’m no judge,’ said the charley, ‘ P’raps you’re a 
gen’lman, and p’raps you ain’t. Howsomdever, it’s not 
mesilf that wud be hypercritical, and if yees ’ll be afther 
10 


218 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

payin’ me for my trouble, I’m not the man to endanger 
my own life, and make Mistress McPhalin a lone widdy, 
by trying to stop yees.’ 

‘Well, here’s a dollar,’ said D’Orsay, handing him a 
piece of money, ‘ but it is only on condition that you fol- 
low those rascals. This is my store, and they have robbed 
me. If you arrest them, come here to-morrow, and I will 
give you a gold eagle.’ 

‘ The agle is the swatest bird of all the grove, yer 
honor I’ exclaimed the guardian of the night. ‘ I’m afther 
them in the twinkling of a shillelah !’ and running off, he 
turned down the by-street, into which the burglars had 
disappeared, ever and anon striking his bass-wood club 
upon the curbstone, and making the air resound with its 
clear metallic ring, and his loud huUahalloo. 

D’Orsay then went in and locked up,.his safe, congratu- 
lating himself that his money had escaped the notice of 
the thieves, but what a woful sight to Jiim were the thou- 
sand scraps of paper once composing his day-book and 
ledger! With a heavy heart he left his store, and, meet- 
ing with a wlatchman at the next corner, under the friendly 
protection of a stoop, engaged him to keep an eye upon 
his premises till morning. Then he retired to his bed at 
Holt’s (a fashionable hotel at that time), resolving that 
on the morrow he would not delay writing to Kate, or her 
father, that Tom Braxton was in Kew York, and that, 
undoubtedly, he ought to suffer instead of Kathan Mudge, 
for the firing of Giles Godwin’s dwelling. 

This letter he accordingly wrote ; addressing it to Kate 
(accounting for doing so by ‘a desire to atone for any 
offence that he might have given in his younger days ;’) 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


219 


and the missive was delivered into her own hand by the 
postman, on the day that her husband received his sen- 
tence, and during the absence of her friends at court. 

Despite the agitation which the intelligence from D’Or- 
say excited in her bosom, she immediately resolved to pro- 
ceed to New York without delay. 

‘ She had some days before conceived an impression, 
that as her husband’s life depended upon the conviction 
of Braxton, and the efforts of others to arrest him had 
not been attended with any success, it was her duty to 
undertake the task. An intense hatred for that bold, bad 
man, and a wild desire to hunt him like a wolf to his lair, 
to drag him forth and hold him up to the execration of 
the world, and by his guilt to prove the innocence of her 
husband, had long occupied her heart and brain. When 
this feeling was strongest upon her, she would denounce 
him in terms almost savage, as the destroyer of her hus- 
band, and call upon God to unsex her, that she might her- 
self follow him with retribution. 

‘ Vengeance is mine, and I will repay, saith the Lord,^ her 
father remarked upon one of these occasions, but generally 
her imprecations were properly attributed to mental aber- 
ration, and were listened to in sad silence. With 
convalescence came calmer thoughts, but the desire to seek 
for Braxton, to pursue him through all his devious ways 
and bring him to justice, remained the one great object of 
life with her. Gradually she had become firmly fixed in 
the belief that it was her destiny. The intelligence from 
D’Orsay not only confirmed her in this monomania, but 
opened a way for her to put it into practice ; and in 
an hour after the receipt of it she had written to her hus- 


^20 ' NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

band and her father, and prepared for her sudden 
departure. She took only a small parcel with her, and 
going down the stairs cautiously, passed out unobserved. 
Drawing her veil closely over her face, she walked at a 
quick pace to Hanover-street, where she found a hackney- 
coach, which she stepped into and was conveyed in it to 
the Providence Railroad depot. She was so filled with 
the one absorbing idea which she had in view, that it shut 
from her notice the beautiful common — that magnificent 
fifty acres of undulating emerald, intersected by meander- 
ing foot-paths, and bordered by spacious malls, overarched 
by ancient elms and sycamores, where in happier days she 
had often walked with Nat — and not until the smoking 
train rumbled over the marsh, and the great dome of the 
State House stood in bold relief against the sky, the only 
conspicuous object in the increasing distance, did she 
arouse to a consciousness that she was leaving all she 
most valued in the world, far behind her. Still no tear 
came to soften the unnatural lustre of her eyes, for such 
relief had ceased to flow from those burning orbs ; and 
only a more' intense glow within them indicated that she 
was not an indilfferent observer of those fading views 
of her native city. 

‘ Let me reverse your seat, madam — you will ride more 
pleasantly,^ said the conductor, a small-sized, brisk, polite 
man, as he handed her a ticket ; ‘ unless, indeed, you 
want to look back.’ 

‘ It is better that I should not,’ thought Kate, but she 
said only, that ‘ she would prefer to look forward.’ There 
was more significance in the expression than the conductor 
dreamt of, but her looks interested him, and he was as 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


221 


attentive to her comfort throughout the remainder of^the 
journey, by rail. and» steamboat, to ^^ew York, as was con- 
sistent with Ins multifarious duties. One of these, by the 
way, was the charge of a carpet bag of letters and 
valuable parcels, some of which he. received and delivered 
at the way^stations, though the larger portion he conveyed 
through to New York. To the politeness of the same 
worthy official, our lone traveller upon arriving in New 
York, was indebted for an introduction to lodgings, 
exactly such as under the circumstances were best suited 
to her. 


CHAPTER XXYII. 

Introduces the Felon’s Wife to the Great Metropolis — How a Stran- 
ger ought to take New York — ^Hunting for a Needle in a Hay Mow. 
— Two Phases of Life in a Great City — Two specimens of Lodging- 
houses — Kate is guilty of a great indiscretion — The Euined Girl — 
Mrs. Mudge consents to meet D’Orsay. 

It was little after day-break when Kate entered the 
city ; about the only silent hour of the twenty-four, in the 
great metropolis, where the buzz of one day is protracted 
until the dawn of the next. The bacchanalians, whose 
midnight orgies lap into the little hours, had reeled home 
to their lodgings, with the exception of here and there one 
of the poorer sort, calmly reposing in his own filth in some 
stoop or arch-way. Night editor^-, reporters and printers 
of morning editions of the news, ‘peep o’ day boys, 
watchmen, thieves, and all who walk the streets of the 


222 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

great city after the midnight men have retired, had now 
gone home, and Broadway was decent and qniet. 

Strangers in New York ought to begin their experience 
in it at day-break. Commencing at that hour, and 
traversing the business streets at a moderate pace, the life 
of the metropolis will open upon them by slow and legal 
stages, and, as it rises from the snpineness of 5 A.M., and 
by degrees attains to evidence of life at six, actual vitality 
at seven and eight, positive utility at nine and ten, anima- 
tion at eleven and twelve, buzz and bustle at one and two, 
hurry and fuss at three and four, and so on to the excite- 
ment and jam of evening, and the warm blood and turmoil 
of the night, they may become gradually used to it — ^pro- 
vided they are naturally clear-headed and do not fuddle 
their brains with drink. At least, this is the only recipe 
we can give for averting that strange, bewildered feel- 
ing in the head which maqy worthy, and even very tempe- 
rate people have every time they visit New York. And 
this is not so unimportant a matter as it may appear to 
those who think we are merely jesting. Begin New York 
wrong and it is always wrong. It will always appear a 
motley, incongruous, heterogeneous, noisy, reckless, in- 
comprehensible, chaotic Babel — full of sights, sounds, 
hurly-burly, hubbub, and an undistinguishable multitude 
of beings, charitably supposed to be human. But begin it 
as Kate did at, or about the dawn of day, and walk or ride 
through the streets (not so dirty then as now) until the 
shades of evening descend, and our word for it, you will 
recognise something human, systematic and noble in it, and 
have a clear, comprehensive idea of it ever afterwards. 

Kate walked a great deal and rode a great deal. The 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


223 


crowds did not confuse her. Early in the day she was 
impatient at seeing so few. Gorgeous stores, elegant 
dwellings, public buildings, popular shows, were nothing 
to her ; faces, faces, human faces, were her sole care ; and 
her eager look flitted from one countenance to another 
with a rapidity that would not suffer any one of the throng 
to go unscanned. Thus she passed the day, traversing 
many portions of the city, incessantly, until night-fall, and 
never tiring in looking for the hated features of the man 
whom she had sworn should expiate with his own life his 
crime against her husband. Faint and exhausted, as the 
evening donned its dusky veil, and the lively gas-light man 
lit up Broadway, she retired to her room, compelled to 
seek some rest. Her latch-key had admitted her, and she 
entered her solitary room unobserved ; but her landlady, 
a buxom English woman, who let apartments by the week, 
and had included breakfast and tea in the bargain, heard 
her footsteps, apd with considerate promptness carried to 
her the evening meal. 

Kate had not given so much as a single thought to food, 
and it was not until the good woman entered with the 
steaming tea and warm dry toast, well-buttered, that she 
was reminded of the fact that she had not eaten a morsel 
since the morning. She had dropped into the nearest 
chair, with a worn and jaded look, and even the bonnet in 
her hand appeared drooping, in keeping with the half- 
mourning weeds it wore. 

‘ Why, dear, Mrs. Midge,’ said the rosy round-faced 
hostess, whose recollection of names was not the most 
accurate, * ’ow hexausted you hare, to be sure I’ and she 
set the waiter, laden with the tea-things and a lighted 


224 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

candle upon the table, and looked volumes of commiser 
ation out of her blue eyes. ‘ Been a shoppin and a “ ag- 
glin’” for goods hall day, I daresay I Wisters to Nev/ 
York never ^as hany mercy on theirselves, the first day or 
two,^ she continued volubly, doing all the talking, as she 
spread a little red table with a snow-white cloth, and 
arranged upon it a little earthen teapot, a plate and knife, 
tea-cup and saucer, a butter dish, and a plate of bread, as 
elaborately as if she were preparing for the mos,t recherche 
collation ; ‘ Where did you get your dinner, dear V 

‘ I have not wanted any,^ replied Kate, rising, and laying 
aside her shawl and bonnet. 

‘Fourteen Aours, without food I Ho dear, child ; let 
me boil you a Aegg, and Aopen a bottle of Aalel' Kate 
shook her head. ‘ No ? Aeggs is Aeight for a shilling, and 
Aale is Aonly a sixpence. But p’raps you would rather 
’ave ’alf-and-’alf, being delicate, kor maybe you favors Lon- 
don Stout ? My Aown pecooler is double X. Let me 
bring you a pint I Ait will do you good, child 1’ 

Kate declined. 

‘Just with the leastest portion Aof water Ain the world 
and a bit Aof sugar, for a stirabout!’ persisted the land- 
lady, persuasively. ‘ No,* said Kate. 

‘Poor creature!’ thought the good woman to herself^ 
‘she thinks I make a charge Aof it !’ and she immediately 
disclaimed any such intention ; but Kate, thanking her for 
her well-meaning hospitality, requested her to leave the 
tea-things as they were, and when she wanted her she 
would ring. 

The landlady took the hint, and as she had a habit of 
talking aloud to herself when alone, she might have beeii 


THE THREE APPREN'TICES. 225 

heard asseverating^ as she descended the stairs, that she 
^ never could get used to the ways and wants of these 
Americans/ Whether or not she ever published a book 
upon the topic of American peculiarities does not appear, 
but the brilliant success of the Martineaus and Trollopes 
of England in this department of polite literature, had 
more than on’<» suggested the idea to the worthy Mrs. 
Brown. 

As famished as she was, our poor wanderer was too ex- 
hausted either to eat or drink, and when, after the lapse 
of half an hour, the landlady returned to remove the dishes, 
she found that they had not been touched. She would 
have used a little gentle remonstrance, but finding her new 
lodger disposed to be reserved as well as moody, and enter- 
taining, herself, a lively consciousness that the two sub- 
editors who occupied her third story front, were waiting 
for their tea, she complied (not without a kind-hearted de- 
murrer, however) with her request that she would take the 
things away, and leave her to obtain some rest. 

Kate threw herself upon the tidy bed (which had been 
prepared for her with more than ordinary care), but not 
to sleep. For an hour, or more, she walked the room ; 
then sat down by the window and threw up the sash, that 
the cool air of evening might fan her burning brow. She 
was thinking how little likely she was to succeed in her 
mission by the method, or want of method, with which she 
had commenced it. She cogitated intensely upon several 
modes of proceeding which occurred to her aching brain, 
until chancing to glance to the houses opposite, she saw 
she had attracted the attention of two fashionably-dressed 
ladies, who sat in a still stronger light than herself, at the 
10 * 


226 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

window. Smiling, they beckoned to her, as if they tvould 
have her come to them. Conscious that they must labor 
under a mistake, and wishing to avoid observation, she 
immediately put out the light, which sat near the window, 
and under the veil of darkness gazed for a few moments 
at these familiar neighbors. As soon as she extinguished 
her candle, there was a great laugh on the other side of 
the way, and the ladies from whom the mirth proceeded 
were joined by another, and a gentleman whose counte- 
nance reminded Kate of a person whom she had known, 
and not very favorably, in Boston. The longer she looked 
at this man, the more she was satisfied that it was 
D’Orsay. 

In communicating to her, by letter, that Tom Braxton 
was in Kew York, the fashionable tailor had not given 
his own address (merely signing his initials), and he was 
held in such detestation by Kate — who was what Dr. 
Johnson would have called a good hater — that she had 
determined not to seek for him in Kew York, unless all 
other sources of information should fail her. But, he 
seemed to be providentially thrown in her way. 

The house in which she now saw him was upon a street 
running parallel with that in which she was temporarily 
residing, near the Park. The yards of the two houses 
abutted upon each other, and consequently the rear win- 
dows 'of both were directly opposite. The room, into 
which she now gazed with an earnestness unconscious of 
any impropriety, was brilliantly lighted, and she could see 
that it was showily furnished, and occupied by a number 
of elegantly dressed persons of both sexes. Presently, a 
colored waiter entered with a bottle of champagne and 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 227 

glasses, which D’Orsay filled, and the wine was passed 
around to those present. A waltz succeeded, to the music 
of a piano, and in a few moments three or four couples 
were locked in embrace, and whirling around in the full 
enjoyment of that voluptuous amusement. Some of the 
most objectionable peculiarities of the now fashionable 
schottisch (then unknown in America) were introduced 
impromptu by the females, whose agile antics occasioned 
their partners and those who were seated, much merriment. 

But Kate scarcely noticed anything further than that 
it was a gay company, of which one was D’Orsay — D’Or- 
say who had written to her about Braxton, and who 
knew, perhaps, his place of concealment. Always impul- 
sive and headstrong, she was seized with an irresistible 
desire to ask him for the information which she coveted 
with the most insatiable longing. Should she wait until 
the morrow, she might not be able to find him. This was 
the golden opportunity — she must see him now. One 
consideration alone impelled her, and before its power all 
others were as nothing. Eternal infamy, and an ignomi- 
nious death were to be averted from her husband by her 
elBforts. All depended upon her. She must be prompt, 
fearless, vigilant, and resolute. All this she had sworn to 
herself she would be, and all this she was. No tremors 
troubled her, nor doubts as to her duty, nor feminine 
hesitancy, nor conflicting emotions, nor distracting 
thoughts. One emotion, one thought possessed her. 
All passions, all intellectual processes, were concentrated 
and resolved into this one. It nerved her to endure any- 
thing and everything ; it would have sustained her at the 
stake, or amidst the diabolical horrors of the Jesuits^ 


228 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

Inquisition, with the stoicism of a savage. Talk of the 
power of resolve in man! He never lived that had a 
stronger and more indomitable will than this woman, when 
hunting to his lair the beast who had destroyed her hus- 
band. It was indeed the morbid action of that power, 
and amounted almost to monomania. 

Resuming her shawl and bonnet abruptly, Kate Mudge 
passed unobserved out of the house. Walking quickly 
around the block, and overtaking or meeting many bold 
faced, gaily dressed girls, unattended like herself, though 
it was after*nine f.m., she came to the building which she 
believed to be the one in which she had seen D’Orsay. It 
was of brick ; genteel, but close-latticed ; sombre and 
uninviting in front. What should she say at the door ? 
Mr. D'Orsay was, perhaps, only a visitor. Still, he was 
there, and she would see him. 

She rang the bell, and in a minute, after having been 
reconnoitered through a small lattice in a pannel, the door 
was opened cautiously, and she was accosted by a female 
apparently about twenty years of age, though emaciation 
and disease made her look much older than she was. Her 
face was fair, but colorless, with the exception of a hectic 
spot, her cheeks hollow, her eyes sunken and glassy. She 
was in the last stages of consumption. 

‘ What do you want V inquired this poor creature. 

‘ I wish to speak to Mr. D’Orsay,’ replied Mrs. Mudge, 
firmly. 

‘ I understand,^ said the other, significantly. ‘ You 
have arranged a meeting. Have you ever met him before V 

* Yes,^ replied Kate, laconically. 

‘Worse luck,^ said the girl, and added with some feel- 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 229 

ing, but in a whisper ‘ My God, I wish I had died before 
I ever saw him I Oh, if you have not led this life — ^if you 
have not, like me, gone too far to recede — ^go away, go 
away : fly from this house as you would from the plague! 
When your beauty is gone, they will turn you into the 
streets to perish, or make a drudge and a door-keeper of 
you, and beat you, as they have me 

There was in this much to surprise and shock Kate, but 
she stood her ground, without a fear. 

^ Do you know Mr. D’Orsay V she inquired. 

‘ Know him I’ replied the girl, bitterly, but still in a low 
tone, ‘ Too well. I worked in his shop, a lone, friendless 
orphan. I will tell you how I know him, that you may 
fly from him as from a pestilence. I fell ill, now eighteen 
months ago — he brought me here to be nursed by his 

aunt 1” I thought him kind, but it was a plot. The 
woman was no relative of his. They tended me carefully, 
until I recovered ; but I had better have died. Oh, my 
God 1 why did I not die then ? He was often at my bed- 
side, and assiduous in his attentions. He succeeded, but iu 
a few months became tired of me, as he will of you. You 
are beautiful, but he will strew your beauty with ashes I 
Go away.^ 

^Ho,^ replied Kate ; ‘ I hate him as much as you do.’ 

* I do not hate him,’ interrupted the poor girl, sadly. 

* I detest him, but I will see him, and even here,’ said 
Kate, resolutely. 

The girl shrank from her, and eyed her with fear and 
suspicion, as she remarked, ‘ He has injured you, too, and 
you would kill him ?’ 

' No, he has never done me any harm, and I intend him 


230 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

none, but I must see him immediately. Ask him to step 
to the door.^ 

‘ V\\ do your bidding,^ whispered the girl humbly, ‘ but 
don’t tell him, or any one here, ,what I told you ! They 
would beat me.’ The poor creature, as she shut the door 
softly, and walked timidly into the interior to perform the 
message, looked as if another blow would precipitate her 
into her gravk 

In a minute, D’Orsay came to the door, and confronted 
Kate, without recognizing her. 

^ Where is Tom Braxton I’ said she abruptly, and with- 
out salutation. 

D’Orsay started as if a scorpion had stung him, and 
then with a great expletive of surprise, exclaimed — 

‘ Kate Godwin, here P 

‘ I understand- your meaning, sir,’ said she sternly, ‘ and 
know the character of this house ; but (she added with 
some irony), if one wants to be sure of seeing you, she 
must seek you where you are most likely to be found.’ 

D’Orsay shrank an instant under the lash, but rallying 
as quickly, invited her to ‘ walk in, and she should see 
that the de^Ml was not as black as he was painted.’ 

‘ Be silent, sir I’ replied Kate, with dignity. ‘ You 
wrote to me that Tom Braxton was in New York : where 
is he V 

‘ ’Pon my honor, my sacred honor,’ replied D’Orsay, 
laying his right hand in a chivalrous way upon his left 
breast, where a heart ought to have been, ‘ I can’t say.’ 
And then added, ‘ Where are you staying ?’ 

‘ No matter,’ she replied, curtly. 

“ Oh, I only asked in order 'to know where to seed you 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


231 


word about Braxton. What a precious scoundrel he has 
been, to be sure 1 By the way,’ he coutinued, an idea 
occurring to him which he thought he could turn to his 
advantage, ‘ Tom don’t suspect but what I’m friendly to 
him, and I think I could arrange. to have an interview 
with him in my room at Holt’s Hotel, and you might come 
in, as if accidentally, or be concealed so as to over- 
hear.’ 

* When?’ cried Kate eagerly. 

^To-morrow night. Tom won’t venture out by day- 
light.’ 

‘ At what hour?’ said Kate. 

‘ About this time,’ replied the tailor ; ‘ but only on 
condition that you promise me that you will bring no 
officers along to arrest him on my premises. Do you pro- 
mise this ?’ 

* Yes,’ replied Kate. 

* Let me call for you ?’ said he. 

‘Ko!’ she replied, resolutely. 

‘ Then come directly up to my room, without a word to 
any one. The number is 28 — ^remember, 28.’ ‘ 

Deigning no response, she departed as abrufdly as they 
had met. He chuckled as she turned frond the steps 
without another word, and walked rapidly away. He did 
not dare to follow. 

‘ She is magnificent,’ said he. ‘ She shall be my queen 
yet; but I have got to tame her first!’ And he re- 
entered the house, in the height of his good humor, placing, 
as he did so, a quarter-dollar into the hand of the poor 
door-keeper, as a gratuity. The look she gave him would 
have melted his heart, if he had had one. 


232 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


* Buy yourself some medicine,’ he added, ‘ your cough 
is dreadful. It will kill you.’ 

* God knows I don’t care how soon,’ replied the girl. 


CHAPTER XXYIII. 

John Hard seeks his Fortune — Takes his first ride in the Cars — la 
compensated for leaving one interesting family by finding another. 
— He arrives in New York. 

Whoo! Whoo! phit! phit! phit! The cars are off. IN’ot 
off the track, reader, but o. p. h. from Boston for Provi- 
dence. ‘ Take in your head there, or you’ll get them 
cowlicks smoothed down in the wrong way, my fine 
fellow I’ said the conductor, by way of caution, to a 
passenger. Just then the train whisked under a bridge, 
swift as an arrow. ‘Jerooshyl’ cried our friend John 
Hard, jerking his head back through the window, ‘ Take 
a feller’s hair short off, and done with it I’ 

‘ A man’s brains were knocked out against that bridge 
last week,’ said the conductor, drily. 

‘ Do telll’ said John, and then added, as he perceived 
that some were smiling — ‘ He couldn’t had many, or 
he wouldn’t stuck ’em out there.’ The smile was now 
more general and unchecked, and John Hard was at 
his ease. At the start he had felt as he described it, 
pretty considerably wapple-jawed at leaving the old 
man, and the colt, and marm, and old Jack the dog, Jonas 
and Joshua, a roarin’ in the depo^; for what in natur’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


233 


was ttie use on’t? A feller must take his first ride in the 
railroad some time or nuthor ; he couldn’t be expected to 
stay at home al’ays. But one thing he would say (and 
this he thought to himself more than once, in the cars'), the 
folks he left behind in tears, for his sake, were hard to 
beat. He rather guessed that the old man was the best 
that ever lived — always excepting, of course, Gin’ral 
George Washington. And Tnarm — well he’d Hke to see 
the woman that could cook e-kle to her, — especially in the 
squash pie, fricassee chicken, and fried turn-over depart- 
ment! Nen that air colt! he’d like to run that colt agin 
the best race horses. Just put his weight (only 180) 
on any one on ’em, and see if the colt wouldn’t brush the 
flies from their noses! If that air animal had been a 
human critter, he couldn’t have spoken plainer than he 
looked it, — “ Don’t trust yourself to that air locomotive — 
that unnaytural gormandiser of pine wood! Know when 
you’re well off and stay at home, where oats are 
cheap, and the grass sweetens your milk and butter.” Ken 
there was the boys! where was there any better? He 
believed he must send them home a fiddle. And Jack — 
old Jack, the dog! whom to see, he had stuck his head 
out of the cars ; for the faithful animkl had followed the 
train until, quite spent, he abandoned the chase in despair 
and laid down, with his long tongue hanging out, to pant 
awhile, and utter a few impatient barks at the iron 
horse, which would not go at a pace that would admit of 
his running along, under the wagon. ‘ I hope,’ thought 
John, * they will stick to their promise, and al’ays give 
him a variety to eat, and let him sleep on my old coat.’ 

* Speaking o/ coats, John Hard wore one of black 


234 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

broadcloth, bran new, and in the approved mode ; also 
pantaloons and vest to match, and a stylish whito silk hat. 
Unfortunately he broke the latter, by suddenly rising to 
his full height in the low car, in order to stretch his enor- 
mous length of limb ; and as he yawned, his new coat 
yawned too, the cloth being rotten, bursting open down 
his back. The castor he soon swapped off to a passenger, 
for a broad-brimmed, low-crowned, black felt hat, some- 
what worn, but more becoming to him ; the coat he threw 
over his arm, consoled for its loss by the gratification of 
his old habit of going in his shirt-sleeves — a piece of inde- 
pendence, by the way, highly offensive to a little man, who 
was holding a small boy, and his wife’s reticule and band- 
box in his lap, and a sheet of molasses-cake in his hand ; 
for he regarded it as a decided indecorum, in the presence 
of his wife. Jemima herself, a sore-eyed and sharp-nosed 
woman, with two or three sore-eyed and sharp-nosed 
children, including one (who John Hard said looked as if 
it was imbibing vinegar) at the breast, cast so many 
indignant glances at him, that he was half inclined to ask 
her if she felt in pain anywheres. Presently the nursing 
.child began to cry, which John declared confidentially to 
a man who sat alongside of him, wasn’t to be wondered at 
considering what it had been eating ; but the baby con- 
tinuing to squall, and the woman looking and talking with 
considerable acerbity at her little man, as if it were all his 
fault, our adventurer fumbled in his half dozen pockets for 
a few peppermints, and very judiciously stopped the infan- 
tine mouth with them. The amiable mother would have 
demurred, but John insisted that they would sweeten his 
stomach, and start the wind. At all events, this treat- 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 235 

ment and a little suction at the new practitioner’s big 
thumb, had a soothing effect upon the baby, which 
presently fell asleep to the manifest satisfaction of the 
smiling spectators, and Mr. Hard immediately obtained to 
the rank of a public benefactor. By the way, why is it 
that people in the cars, or steamboat, rather hear a lion 
roar than an infant cry ? 

But John had no more time to spare upon this interest- 
ing family ; the day was on the wane, and the sun fast 
sinking in the west. Towns and villages were scattered 
profusely along the route, and the locomotive was rushing 
through them all, Mr. Hard said, like a’ hog through a 
water-melon patch. These places were all new to him, and 
he could not reconcile himself to remaining in ignorance of 
their names and peculiarities. He was on the express train, 
and the stopping-places were few, but at every one he 
would rush out, and make a little circuit, double quick 
time, as far from the road as he dare venture, in order to 
get some idea of the locality, and be able to say that he 
had been ’round in it. Fortunately, the man who sat in 
the same seat with him was perfectly familiar with all the 
towns on the road, and very ready to answer Mr. Hard’s 
innumerable questions in regard to them. So John picked 
up much useful information in respect to the different soils, 
and various modes of cultivation, the cost and different 
kinds of manure, the natural and industrial products, the 
population, the prospect of future growth, the water 
privileges, mill-power, &c. ; all of which he made note of 
in a snug corner of his memory. Many of the passengers 
left before the train arrived at Providence ; the communi- 
r^'ive gentleman among the rest ; and the shades of night 


236 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

descended. John changed his seat often, and talked with 
as many as a dozen people, eliciting from each person some 
information of the peculiarities of his occupation. In 
truth, he was a great hand at pumping ; and that without 
being impertinent. Most people are either indifferent to 
general information, or too vain to wish to appear igno- 
rant of anything. This concealment of their poverty of 
intelligence is like a window-shutter, which, while it keeps 
others from looking in, excludes light from the tenant 
himself. But John Hard had read in an ancient school- 
book, a piece of excellent advice under the title of ‘ Eyes 
and no Eyes : or the Art of Seeing and if he had never 
read it, he would still have kept his eyes and ears both 
open, for the reception of practical information, and made 
the best use of his tongue to the same end. j^or was he 
backward in communicating information to others. ‘ Give 
and take^ was his motto. He was always ready to describe 
his manner of farming, his experience of crops, and his 
treatment of live stock, his method of selecting the best 
cows, and of keeping them so as to produce the most milk, 
and the details of the milk business of Middlesex. In 
exchange, if he were talking with a blacksmith, and there 
was time for it, he would want to know the kinds, quali- 
ties, and prices of the material he wrought, the manner of 
working it, and the variety and prices of the articles 
he made, and where he sold them. If the man were a 
copper-smith, a carpenter, a machinist, a mill-wright, a 
ship-builder, a clock-maker, or what not, it was all the 
same ; without giving any offence, John would obtain 
from them a pretty good idea of the details of each employ- 
ment, and with feelings of inward pleasure at his fresh 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 23t 

acquisition of useful knowledge, would bestow it safely in 
the mental encyclopedia which he was compiling under the 
shadow of those unique cowlicks. 

At ten, p.M., the train arrived at Providence. John 
regretted that he could not get a better view of the city, 
founded by the persecuted Roger Williams, and the idea 
that he should have to say that he had been in the largest 
city in Rhode Island, without seeing any of its public 
buildings, except the depot, was very unsatisfactory. His 
sea-sickness, and adventures on board the boat, which he 
found there awaiting the arrival of the passengers, to take 
them to New York — ^his opinion of the supper and lodg- 
ing on board — and his delight at daybreak, with the sail 
up the East River, and the view of the city, with its 
forest of masts — we shall be compelled to pass over ; leav- 
ing a more honorable mention of them, together with 
some account of his wonderful and amusing scrapes and 
achievements among the dens and dangers of New York, 
for publication in a book of his own personal biography. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Mr. Hard’s Grand Eeception in New York — One Huiu ed Carriages, 
or less — A slight difference between hostile Hackinen — The Hos- 
pitable Stranger — The Pickpocket — The Pursuit — Mr. Hard meets 
with an Old Head upon Young Shoulders — The Newsboy. 

When the boat touched her pier, John Hard was one 
of the first to land. With his large, long, well-filled car- 


238 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

pet-bag in one han^, and bis damaged coat thrown over 
his arm, he entered New York, he said, in his shirt-sleeves, 
as if ready for any job that might offer. A gang of hack- 
drivers, with faces very much the worse for wear, pointed 
their lashes at him as soon as he made his appearance at 
the cabin door. 

‘ Pesky nation said Mr. Hard, I wonder what them 
fellows think I want of two or three dozen second-hand 
whips V 

‘ Ride sir, ride V ‘ Astor House V ‘ HolPs Hotel V 
' Clinton V ‘ American V ' Here^s my card I’ ‘ Where 
d’ye want to go, boss V ‘ I’ll take yer up I’ ‘ I’ll take 
yer up for a dollar 1’ ‘ Here’s my card, sir I’ ‘ Here’s my 

number I’ ‘ Number 1108, sir ‘ Ride with me, sir, splen- 
did carriage 1’ ‘Oh, humbug I No tiling but a dirt-cart I 
Ride with me, sir I’ ‘I got a nice carriage, sir I’ ‘ I say 
Jim, what yer want to lie, for, when yer know yer springs 
is broke ?’ ‘ Leave go the gen’lemun’s carpet-bag !’ ‘ He’s 
going to ride with meP ‘No he ain’t ; not’s yer knows 
on I are yer, mister ?’ ‘ The jointlemanknowsmel’ ‘Shut 
up, Pat I’ ‘ Leave him go ; let him take which one he 
likes.’ ‘ Leave him be I’ ‘ He rides with me I’ ‘ No he 
don’t I’ ‘ Yer lie 1’ ‘ Say that agin, and I’ll knock yer 

into the dock I’ ‘Yer ain’t the man that can do it 1’ 

‘ Gimme that carpet-bag I’ ‘ I won’t do i{ I’ ‘ Mister, 
here all yer baggage ?’ ‘ Let me take yer coat, mister ?’ 

‘Leave him be I’ ‘Oh, get out I’ ‘None yer sarce I’ 

‘ You shut up, or I’ll spile yer snuff-trap I’ ‘ Less see yer 
do it I’ ‘ Take that I’ ‘ Hit him again!’ ‘ A ring, a ring!’ 

And then there was a fight, and John Hard, who had 
had all these questions and expletives, mingled with oaths, 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


239 


rattling fast into his ears from a dozen drivers, who pnlled 
at him and his carpet-bag in all directions, was left for 
two or three minutes standing alone, an astonished spec- 
tator. ‘ I fear, sir,^ said a person of seedy appearance, 
but gentlemanly address, accosting him with a suavity 
that gave him a much better idea of New York politeness 
than the drivers had done, ‘ that this digraceful conduct 
wLQ give you an ^unfavorable ^impressi<^ of this glorious 
metropolis ; for I presume you are a stranger V ‘ You 
guessed right fust time,’ replied John. * Sir,’ said the 
polite person, taking our adventurer by the hand cordially, 

‘ fallow me as a ^individual justly proud of his native 
city, to ^extend to you Aits ’ospitalities. Sir, you are 
welcome to New York I Let me take your carpet-bag, and 
escort you ’ence, before these ’arpies of the ’ack ’ave time 
to fasten upon you again. Come, sir, permit me!’ He 
would have reheved Mr. Hard of his luggage, but John 
preferred to carry it himself, and the stranger’s hospitable 
impulses were compelled to be satisfied with the transpor- 
tation of the coat, which he transferred blandly from our 
friend’s arm to his own. On their way up the pier, 
through a crowd, hurrying hither and thither, there were 
repeated rushes at John’s carpet-bag, by Irish lads in 
dilapidated clotliing, but they were kept at bay pretty 
successfully by the volunteer cicerone, who ever and anon 
beckoned to them majestically to be gone. At the cor- 
ner of Bowh'ng jGrreen and Battery Place, the stranger 
paused. ‘ This hotel that you see here, of ’andsome brick, 
with a beautiful Aexterior of white paint, with a slight 
dash of green,’ said he, taking John by the button, ‘ was 


240 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

General Washington’s ’Ead Quarters. As an American, 
I Aam, and not ^unnaturally, you must Aadmit, quite proud 
of it !’ 

' You don’t say that General Washington put up here ? 
Yen I’ll put up here too.’ The stranger would have had 
him go farther, but the prestige of having once been 
honored with the presence of the Father of his Country, 
lent the hotel too great an attraction for the patriotic 
Mr. Hard to get away, and he resolved to stop there. 
‘ Then,’ said the stranger, ‘ we part here.’ John was pro- 
fuse in his thanks for his attention. ‘ Yot at all,’ said 
the stranger, ‘ this is purely a business ^affair. Permit 
me to trouble you for two shillings.’ 

‘ What for ?’ inquired John, taken aback, some. 

‘ One shilling for the transportation of this valuable 
garment, my dear sir, and one shilling for Revolutionary 
Aintelligence,’ replied the genteel stranger in the thread- 
bare coat. 

‘ Pesky nation 1 Is this one of the customs of the coun- 
try V cried John, setting down his bag on the steps of 
the hotel, and, in some chagrin, producing his wallet, from 
which he paid the sharper thirty-three cents, being two 
shillings Y. E. currency — a little mistake which the stran- 
ger did not think proper to notice. ‘ I thought it all pure 
hospitality.’ 

* ’Ospitality, my Aexcellent good sir,’ replied the stranger, 
blandly pocketing the change, ‘ can be ^afforded without 
charge in the Southern and Western country, where pro- 
duce is plentiful Aand costs nothing ; but, sir, when you 
consider the price of beef and breadstuflfs in this market! 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


241 


why, sir, if you will believe me, ^everything is so ^igh, 
’ere, that I’m factually compelled to pass the ’ottest sea- 
son Aat Newport, Saratoga and NiAagara Falls!’ 

John Hard knew nothing of the petty plunderers at 
the watering-places, but we shrewdly suspect that this 
Jeremy Diddler established his own school of followers in 
both the resorts named by him, and that they have not 
yet died out. 

He had no sooner left the Yankee than a little ragged 
newsboy, with a bundle of papers under his arm, ran up 
to him, and said, ‘ I say, greeny, that man’s took your 
pocket-book!’ John run his hand into his breeches pocket, 
and afterwards into all his pockets, and sure enough his 
wallet was gone. ^Jerooshy!’ He might have left his 
bag with the hotel porter, but considering it safer in his 
own possession, he hugged it under his left arm, and leav- 
ing his split coat with the boy, made a break after the 
pickpocket, who was sauntering leisurely through that 
well-known promenade, the Battery. Hearing John’s 
heavy tramp in his wake, the hospitable stranger increased 
his own pace to a smart trot. It was early in the morning 
or the race must have attracted a crowd. John Hard’s 
long legs got over the ground marvellously fast, and to 
use an old figure * devoured the way.’ In two minutes he 
had Mr. Diddle by the skirt of the coat, which was flying 
like a streamer behind him. Unfortunately (or fortu- 
nately, we will not pretend to decide which), it gave way, 
and parting company from the body of the garment, 
remained in the huge clutch of the indignant agriculturist, 
who, rejoiced to discover in the pocket of it his identical 
11 


242 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

wallet, with the contents entire, was content to sufifer the 
knave to escape. 

Mr. Hard then sat down upon one of the public seats 
with which the Battery was, even in that (compared to 
the present) dark and unenlightened age, liberally sup- 
plied, to enjoy a breathing spell. The little newsboy, who 
had slipped on the coat which John had left with him, and 
warmly applauded the race, both by hand and voice, now 
came up, looking very graceful and dignified, of course, in 
the fractured garment, with the sleeves tucked up a quarter 
of a yard, or less, and the tails dragging, like a train, upon 
the ground. And altogether, this juvenile New Yorker^ 
a specimen of one of the industrial classes of that mosaic 
metropolis, struck John’s fancy in some such a way as we 
may suppose the mariners shipwrecked upon the Enchant- 
ed Island to have been impressed with the appearance of 
Caliban, There was an impish intelligence in the cut of 
his eye, a premature experience, and an almost supernatu- 
ral oldness in that little, puny, peaked face, which, despite 
his diminutive form and evidently brief existence, impressed 
the wondering John with a certain kind of comic deference. 
^ Did yous git it V said the urchin, as he came up to our 
friend. ‘Yes,’ replied John. ‘How much money was 
there in it?’ inquired the lad, eagerly. ‘ Let me count it 
for yous I’ and taking the wallet unceremoniously from 
John’s hands, he counted it out upon the latter’s knee — 
notes, change and aU — much quicker than Mr. Hard had 
done it himself. ‘Fourteen dollars and three shillings,’ 
said the urchin replacing the money. ‘ Fourteen dollars 
plus two-and-threepence, I make it said John. ‘Where 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


243 


d^ye git yous two-and-threepence?^ said the boy, again 
overhauling the change. ‘There’s one shillun’, two shill’ns 
— * ‘ Them’s ninepences,’ said John. ‘ Am they, 

though?’ replied the boy contemptuously, ‘ Buy Sun and 
Herald and Morning Dispatch, sir?’ ‘ What d’ye ask?’ ‘ I 
ax if ye’ll buy the Sun and Herald and Morning Dispatch.^ 
* I mean what price d’ye ask for them?’ ‘ Fivepence for 
the three. I’ll take yous ninepence and give you four 
pennies back. Is that right. Mister?’ ‘ I s’pose so/ 
replied John. 

‘ O, how jolly green!’ cried the newsboy, laughing. ‘Mis- 
ter let me shew yous how to reckon! This amn’t a nine- 
pence, this am a shill’n; there am eight of ’em in a dollar.’ 

‘ Pesky nation!’ cried John, ‘I shall never get used to 
that way o’ makin’ change! That passes for a fo’pence- 
ha’penny, don’t it?’ 

‘ There amn’t no such money as you caUs it,’ replied the 
boy; ‘ it’s a sixpence. Lemme show yer ; or some o’ the 
fellers ’ll skin yer eye-teeth!’ The youngster then very 
good-naturedly, but evidently with a feeling of superior 
smartness, explained to the simple countryman the whole 
lienee of making change in New York, including the knack 
of making ninety-six cents pass for a dollar — ^in return for 
which, and his information against the philanthropic Mr. 
Diddle, John gave the boy the damaged coat which he had 
put on. ‘With a little alteration,’ said he, smothering a 
laugh at the odd figure the lad had cut, ‘ a little taken-in 
here and there, and a cuttin’ off the tails and half the 
sleeves, it will’ fit you like a — shirt on a handspike — or at 
lea£t full as well as them air trowsers yer got on. Where 
on airth did you git them V 


244 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

The boss printer guv ^em to me. I had to chop ^em 
off at the knees, and then they was too long.^ 

* If ye had a big load — a bushel o^ taters, or anything 
o^ that sort — ye could carry them in the seat o^ yer trow- 
sers, couldn’t ye ; fust rate ? But why didn’t ye git yer 
maim to take ’em in?’ 

‘ I amn’t got no marm. Never had none.’ 

‘ Where was ye born?’ inquired John, who thought he 
detected a bit of Irish brogue. 

‘ Wan’t born,’ replied the boy, coolly removing the flap- 
ping visor of his cap, and flinging it down rather imperi- 
ously ; I floated ashore.’ 

‘Jerooshyl’ cried John Hard. ‘Well, I heern tell o’ 
folks havin’ a whole raff o’ children, but never dreamt why 
they called ’em so. P’raps ’twas ’cause they floated 
ashore too. What did they name ^ye ?’ 

‘ Scratch,^ replied the little fellow, demurely. 

‘Scratch!’ cried John, showing all his large, broad 
white teeth, ‘ that was a funny name. ’Twas kind o’ mean 
to take advantage of a little baby, though, in that way. 
But p’raps that’s only a nickname, and you’ve got another?’ 

‘Yes, I has,’ said the boy, while in his little bit of a 
grey eye there was a roguish twinkle answering to a slight 
upward twitch at the corners of his mouth, ‘ My tother 
name is — Gravd? 

‘ Gravd V exclaimed Mr. Hard, with a great laugh, 
‘that would make it Scratch Gravd; ye little mush- 
squash ye ! What a name to run for the Legislaturl’ 

‘ There’s many a wusser one in New York.’ said the 
newsboy; ‘ What’s yourn ?’ 

‘John Hard,’ replied our friend. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


245 


^HurP cried the lad, jeeringly, ‘what a na:iiel Say^ 
ole boss, is yer any relation ter hard tijnes V 

‘Pm sometimes called Jack Hard/ added John, good 
humoredly. 

‘ Did yer ever have any one read Jack Shejpard to yer V 
inquired little Scratch (who did certainly bear a certain 
impish resemblance to Old Scratch), ‘O crackeel ThaPs 
the book for yous.’ 

‘Jack Shepard was a house-breaker, wasn’t he?’ said 
John. 

'Yes, but didn’t he die gamCj though ?’ exclaimed little 
Scratch Gravel, triumphantly. ‘ You ought to see him 
die at the Bowery I It takes Jim Kirby to do that part. 
Say, mister, can yous fence three up and one down, in the 
grand double sword combat? J can.’ And seizing a piece 
of a broken bough which had fallen — and taking a trunk 
of a tree as an opponent — the urchin treated the wonder- 
ing Mr. Hard to a graphic imitation of a personal hand-to- 
hand fight, with short swords, after the approved stage- 
fashion. 

J ohn laughed very heartily at the conclusion, when little 
Scratch made as if mortally wounded, and staggering, 
with many horrid grimaces, a few steps, fell as stiff as a 
mackerel upon the green grass. 

‘ Ye’re the cutest little hop-o’-my-thumb I ever saw,’ 
said the farmer, wiping the tears from his eyes, ‘ but I 
must be goin’. I’m as hungry as all git out!’ In a tvrink- 
ling Scratch Gravel was by his side, and ready to accom- 
pany him. ‘ I’ll show you the best hotel. Mister ; where 
all the country merchants go,’ said he. 

‘ Well, I kind o’ calculate I’ll put up at that air tavern 


246 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

overyender/ said John ‘^cause that feller '.hat run away 
with my wallet said it was once Gin’ral Washington's 
Head Quarters. Yc don’t s’pose he’d lie about it nor 
nothin’, do ye, Scratch ?’ 

^ Don’t I wish I had as many dollars as he’s told lies! 
Wouldn’t I have taffy candy enough for once, and a 
theatre of my own I’ cried Master Gravel, with great 
earnestness. ‘ Come along, mister, and I’ll show you a 
nice hotel.’ 

^^ot till ye take that coat off. Ye’ll have to have it 
altered a little. Take it off. If ye have any such thing 
as clothing stores, here, I’ll drop in and make a trade for 
a new garment for myself, on the way to the tavern, and 
then, if ye like, ye can swap that coat for a jacket.’ 

This was agreed to by the urchin, and with the coat 
folded under his arm, he piloted Mr. Hard to Washington- 
street, where there were stores at which ready-made cloth- 
ing was sold. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

New York Cries — The Radish Girl — A Gentleman in Distress— John 
Hard’s opinion of New York Milk — Finds a Hotel. 

Our rural friend was much struck by the cries of nume- 
rous hucksters of vegetables, shad, clams, &c., who made 
the streets vocal with their announcements. 

‘What on airth,’ said John, to Master Gravel, * is that 
air gal, without any stockins’ on, a hoUerin V 

* RarOrardashere-e-ese P cried the girl, as she passed, on 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 24*? 

the other side, prolonging the sound on every vowel until 
the word died away piteously, like a victim stretched on 
the rack. 

* Say!^ shouted the boy, *the genTmun wants some o’ 
yer radishes.’ 

* Only tuppence a bunch,’ said the young woman, in 
the very brief frock, as she tripped through the mud with 
her bare feet, and extended her basket. She wore a 
very cheap gingham sun-bonnet, and her face was not 
over clean, but a dimple in her cheek reflected a bright 
ray from her white teeth, and Mr. Hard was easily per- 
suaded by her and young Mr. Scratch Gravel — himself 
very fond of the esculent — to buy a shilling’s worth. The 
radishes vended in this manner by thousands of women 
and girls during the summer, are delicious, and John foinid 
them so, but young Scratch more than intimated that the 
business would never deserve entire success until the ven- 
ders carried salt with them. 

Another thing that attracted the attention of our agri- 
cultural friend was a hogshead drawn upon wheels by a 
miserably lean horse. Ding-dong ! ding-dong ! went a bell 
in the hands of the driver, and out rushed a kitchen wench 
from a basement, with a pail, which he filled with water 
from a fascet at the end of the hogshead. This, be it 
remembered, was before the Croton was introduced into 
2s ew York. 

‘ That feller don’t go round every morning, giving that 
jtufif away, does he?’ inquired John. 

The boy laughed, and wanted to know where Johnha^ 
been living all his days not to know that water was a 
penny a pail full. 


248 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OE 

‘ What V roared Mr. Hard, ‘ sell water V 

‘ In course!’ exclaimed Scratch Gravel. ‘ Yous wouldn’t 
have ’em guv it away, wud ye ?’ 

But the milk wagons excited John’s attention more than 
anything else. His notice was first attracted to them by 
a most dissonant screech (like, what he described as, twenty 
tom-cat ‘ he-yaws^ all in one) proceeding from a rakish- 
looking chap, standing bolt upright in his shirt sleeves in 
an open wagon, by the side of a large tin canister, from 
the open top of which protruded a ladle. 

‘ Say ; be alive there !’ said the man, with a peculiar 
intonation, as a girl with a pitcher came running out of 
the door in front of which he had just pulled up ; ‘we 
ain’t got more nor a thousand years to live. How 
much ?’ ‘ Quart,’ replied the girl. Quickly drawing out 

the ladle, fom’ times, full, he filled the pitcher, and pass- 
ing the fluid to her, threw the implement into the can, and 
with a startling shout of ‘ Hi P to his horse, and still 
standing in the rattling vehicle, drove rapidly away. 

‘ Here, you ;’ said John Hard to the girl, as she descended 
the area steps, ‘ jes lemme look at that air milk, a moment, 
will ye ?’ She complied, with a stare. ‘Well, now,’ he 
continued, as he looked at the contents of the pitcher first 
and then tasted it, but not without a huge grimace, ‘ they 
don’t call that confounded mean swash milky dew they ? 
Why it’s hludn P 

‘ Dey say how dat it is colored mit de ice vot dey hash 
ter put in him to keeps him from sour replied the wench, 
who was a German. 

‘ I don’t see anything the matter wid that milk,’ said 
little Scratch Gravel, slyly taking a swallow. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 249 

* Me vill matter mit yoUf you tirty pig plockhead 
exclaimed the girl, and seizing the pitcher gave the urchin^s 
ear a whack with her fist : whereat he laughed, and plac- 
ing his thumb to his little pale pock-marked nose, circum- 
gyrated his fingers at her, until she had disappeared into 
the basement. 

While Master Gravel was thus profitably occupied, a 
gentleman of thirty or thereabouts, in a shabby black suit, 
buttoned up closely to the neck, which was encased in a 
high black stock, without the relief of a collar, accosted 
Mr. Hard. 

‘ My good sir,^ he began, ‘ you appear to be a citizen 
of this place, and a man of extensive information. I am 
the very reverse. In fact, reverses are my forte. I am 
a strahger, and as ignorant as the smiling infant of the 
localities by which I find myself surrounded. Sir, I am 
in great pecuniary distress. Nay, sir, I am not going to 
beg or borrow. Blood of my ancestors, forbid ! No, 
sir, I am too proud for that. Adverse circumstances have 
piled upon the poor exile like Ossa upon Pelion, until he 
has become a wart : still he has feelings, sir I All I ask 
is, that you will immediately indicate the spot where, in 
exchange for the trifling sum of two or three dollars, I 
may sacrifice a coat worth twenty. It is in this bundle, 
sir. I am compelled by stern necessity to sell it, even for 
a pittance I’ 

‘Well, now,’ thought honest John, ‘here is a case of 
real distress.’ 

‘ Sir,’ cried the stranger, with sudden vehemence and a 
tear in his eye, ‘ I perceive a generous and a noble heart 
beats under that Valencia waistcoat, and you are in need 
11 * 


250 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


of a garment, yourself. Oh, sir, I conjure you buy this, 
and save me from the disgrace of again shoving it up the 
spout P 

‘Whatl^ exclaimed John, ‘ye ain’t been hidin’ it in a 
spout, have ye ? Must ha’ got damaged by water, some.’ 

‘No, sir, I pledge my honor,’ said the fellow, who by 
the ‘ spout’ had meant the pawnbrokers — ‘ perfect, or no 
sale." Ah, sir, pity the distress of a gentleman once an 
ornament* of the best society, but at present laboring 
under a passing cloud, and give me two dollars for my 
dress coat, of the best Saxony cloth, dyed in the wool 1’ 

‘ Less see it,’ said John. With the utmost care, the stran- 
ger produced a thread-bare coat, which by dint of spong- 
ing and coloring, was made to look, at first glance, worth 
something ; but the farmer didn’t want it, and he was about 
to say so, when a policeman, coming up, took hold of the 
garment, and it fell to pieces in his hands. ‘ Now be off 
with yourself I’ said the functionary to the swindler, and 
the genius went sneaking away. ‘ It is an old trick of 
his,’ said the policeman to Mr. Hard, ‘ and he tries it on, 
daily.’ 

‘ Yous is jolly green,’ said Scratch, when the policeman 
had gone, ‘ to believe what that sucker told yous. Here’s 
a clothing shop. Don’t let them gammon yous. Mister. 
Let me talk to um : they can’t cheat me,. I gits up too 
early for um!’ 

After John had suited himself to a brown cloth frock 
coat of ample dimensions, and large pockets in the sides 
of the skirts. Master Gravel traded off the rent garment 
for a coarse satinet round-about. ‘If this don’t wear 
well,’ said he, with a threatening look at the shopkeeper, 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 251 

* Tons don’t git my custom, no more. And look here (he 
added in a confidential tone) what is yer goin’ to gimme 
for bringin’ him him here to buy of yer V 

The man laughed, and told him to get out. 

* Catch me a bringin’ any more trade to this shopl’ said 
the precocious youth in reply and putting a quid of 
tobacco in his mouth with the air of an old chewer, he 
followed John Hard into the street. 

After proceeding some distance, they came to a public 
house. ^ I reckon this ’ere’s a tarvern,’ said John. 

‘ It’s the Custom-House hotel,’ replied Scratch ; ‘ don’t 
stop here. The feller in there driy me off the steps yes- 
terday. Yous come down in Fulton Street, and I’ll shew 
yous a fust-rate hotel.’ 

‘Wall, Scratch Grayel I’ cried John laughing, ‘Go-a- 
head.’ * 

‘ Is yous goin’ to the races, to-day ?’ inquii-ed the boy, 
as they trudged along ; and John asked what races. 

‘ Oh, crikee I hain’t yous heard on um. Mister ?’ 

‘ Guess not,’ replied Mr. Hard. ‘ Where are they V 

‘ Down on Long Island, about ten miles. Oh, dpn^t I 
wish yous’d take me wid yous I’ 

‘ ’Twon’t be nothin’ worth seein’, wUl it?’ said Mr, Hard, 
who, from having a fast colt of his own, felt some interest 
in the speed of horses. 

‘Won’t it, though I’ cried little Scratch. ‘Yes won’t 
it. Why, it are the great contest between the North and 
South. Fosthoy am the North boss, and Bascomh the 
South, Oh, won’t there be a time 1 Everybody ’ll be 
there.’ 

‘ A race-track ain’t no place for boys,’ said John, 


262 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

‘ Hur P exclaimed Scratch ; * yons amn’t a preacher, 
is yous ? A black boy’s goin’ to ride the Soiflherii boss/ 

‘Wall, turn-about’s fair play : let him ride, but you stay 
at home.’ 

‘ 1 ain’t got no home •/ said the boy, ‘ and I will see the 
great race, if I have to walk every step. All the news- 
boys is goin’.’ 

‘ What’s that all-fired large white building, yender V 
inquired Mr. Hard. 

‘ That’s the hotel. Others is crack, but that is more 
crackerer than any on urn. I know a feller that keeps in 
there.’ 

When they reached the door of the magnificent edifice, 
John went in, escorted by his youthful cicerone. 

‘ This gen’l’mun wants a good room, and breakfast for 
two ;’ said Scratch, promptly. 

‘Not so fast,’ said John. ‘ Here’s a quarter for ye ; go 
get yer breakfast somewhere else.’ The lad took the 
money, and, while Mr. Hard was entering his name elabo- 
rately upon the register, put the same inquiry to the clerk 
that he had to the clothier, ‘ What yous goin’ to gimme 
for bringin’ him here ?’ 

‘ Pooh, pooh!’ replied the clerk with a smile, ‘ go away.’ 

‘ He was goin’ to another hotel, but I got him to come 
here,’ urged Scr^h. ‘ I want to make a raise to go to 
the races wid. Oh gimme a quarter!’ 

‘ Not a shill’n’,’. replied the clerk, inflexibly. ‘ Get out 
of the office!’ 

‘ Gimme a cigar, then ; only a cigar — a real Spaniola,’ 
persisted Scratch. 

‘No!’ roared the clerk. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 253 

‘Then yens don^t git any more my custom T squeaked 
little Scratch Gravel, and taking the quid from his dis- 
tended cheek, and throwing it down with an air of defiance, 
he walked out. 

Upon the doorsteps, the precocious youth was fortu- 
nate enough to find several cigars, only partially con- 
sumed ; havipg been cast from the mouths of their smok- 
ers, when the bell summoned them to breakfast. 

‘Real Spaniolasl’ said he, as he bestowed them care- 
fully into one of the outside pockets of his new jacket. 
Then taking out a match, and igniting it, he lit another 
half-cigar which he had picked up. 

‘ PriTidpeP said he, and sedulously puffing it, hurried off 
for a fresh supply of papers. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

A strange Adventure to Kate on her way Home — The Crushed Child 
— The Tricks of Trade — A Death-bed at the Five Points — Scenes 
in Low Life. 

We will now use the novelists privilege, and go back to 
the night next preceding the occurrences narrated in the 
last chapter. 

Kate had just turned the corner, after her meeting with 
U’Orsay at the portal of the suspicious-looking dwelling, 
when she saw a hack pass rapidly, and the same instant, 
heard a short, but thrilling cry of distress, proceeding from 


254 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

an object, wbicli she could discern but obscurely, in the 
middle of the street. 

Scarcely anything else could have startled her from her 
abstraction and indifference to everything around her ; 
but now she sprang impulsively to the spot, and discover- 
ed a little girl, ragged, bonnetless and bare-footed, writh- 
ing in agony upon the pavement. 

‘ Och, murther ; it’s kilt I is. I’m kiltl Oh dear, oh 
dear, I’m kiltl’ she cried, when Kate stooped down to her. 

‘ What’s the matter?’ ‘ Are you run over?’ were the 
inquiries of two or three men, who had run simultaneously 
with Mrs. Mudge, to the place where the young one lay, 
and now lifted her up. 

‘ That carriage run over me I’ she replied, with a groan. 

‘ Hullo, hackman, hold on there!’ called one of the men 
in pursuit of the carriage, but the reckless jehu only drove 
the faster, and was soon out of sight. 

‘ Arrah, honey,’ said an Irishman to the squirming and 
crying child, ‘ why didn’t yous take his number ?’ 

‘ My poor little one,’ said Kate, ‘ how badly are you 
hurt ? Can you tell?’ 

‘ Sure she’s got a tongue in her head, that’s ivident by 
her noise 1’ said the Irishman, who was a hod-carrier. 

‘ Both my legs is broke, I’m sure ! Oh, be careful how 
you lift me! Oh dear, dear ; my poor mither! my poor 
brithers and sisters! my poor grand-mither!’ cried the 
afflicted creature. 

‘ What shall we do for you, my poor child?’ said Kate, 
distressed at her inability to afford immediate relief. ‘Per- 
haps you had better convey her to my room. It is but a 
few steps from here.’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 266 

‘No you don’t miss I’ said one of the men, contemptu- 
ously. ‘ She had better die here in the gutter, than go 
with the likes o’ yon.’ 

‘Sir I’ gasped Kate, quite confounded at the honest 
fellow’s revolting insinuation, 

‘ I mean what I say, miss,’ said the man sturdily, ‘ and 
if you don’t tramp quick. I’ll make you I’ This speech was 
accompanied with a threatening gesture. 

Mrs. Mudge’s presence of mind, and courage, immedi- 
ately returned to her under this provocation. 

‘ Sir, you do me great injustice, though your rudeness 
arises from a proper motive. I assure you that neither 
abuse nor threats will induce me to leave this poor little 
crippled girl (here the child began to cry again) until I 
see her properly cared for.’ 

‘ Beg pardon, marm,’ said the man, but with rather a 
bad grace ; for though her language, and manner nearly 
destroyed his suspicions against her character, her presence 
in such a place at so late an hour, was rather equivocal, 
and made him entertain a lingering doubt of her. 

‘ Better take her to the Charity Hospital,’ he suggest- 
ed. ‘ It’s just up here in Broadway.’ 

* An’ a fine slarter-hoose it is I’ said the hod-carrier, who 
in common with his countrymen in New York, had very 
erroneous information respecting that excellent institution, 
where so much good is done for them gratis. 

^ Oh dear, oh dear, don’t, don’t, don’t take me there ! 
Take me home. Oh good, nice lady, take me homel’ said 
the little girl, amidst many cries of pain. 

‘What’s yoosname darlint, at home?’ 

‘ Biddy McGuire,’ was the reply. 


256 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

* Will you go home with her, sir?^ inquired Kate of the 
rough man. 

* I can’t, ^ he replied, ^ I’m in a hurry to get a doctor for 
my wife.’ 

* Who will go home with her?’ 

No one volunteered. 

* Get me a carriage then,’ said Kate, * and I will.’ 

A hack was hailed accordingly, and the crippled placed 
carefully upon the back seat. As Mrs. Mudge stepped 
into the carriage, the driver inquired where they wanted 
to go. 

‘ I never thought of that,’ said Kate. ‘ Where do you 
live, Biddy ?’ 

* In Little Water-street, near Anthony,’ replied Biddy, 

‘ The Five Points!’ grumbled the driver, as he mounted 

his box. 

‘ A nice place to take a lady tol’ exclaimed the rude 
man, as the vehicle rattled over the pavement, and he 
himself towards the doctor’s. 

‘ The big bugs live down there,’ said the hod-carrier, as 
they parted. * I mane the roaches. Bedad wasn’t I run 
over wid ’em when I lived there! Sure I was, faith! But 
there was a musha deal worse than the bugs there?’ and 
lowering his vertebrae for a rapid walk, to make up for lost 
time, Pat urged his somewhat meandering pace up West 
Broadway. 

Kate had no idea of the neighborhood to which she was 
riding. In all her peregrination^she had never entered 
Water-street, at least not that portion of it which made 
one of the notorious Five Points. Notwithstanding the 
lawlessness and infamy of the locality, it was not three 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 257 

minutes ride out of the aristocratic thoroughfare, Broad- 
way, and she was so engrossed with the complaints of the 
beggar girl, that she took no notice whatever of the way. 
The hack, driven after the reckless manner of the jehus in 
New York, rattled down a short hill, into what was origi- 
nally a hollow, but then a dirty, triangular space, 
surrounded by repulsive looking dwellings and drinking 
shops, with a host of vile creatures loafing about the walks 
and stoops, and conducting themselves shamefully. 'On 
one side was a large dilapidated building, swarming with 
these wretches, and resounding with blackguard language, 
hard swearing, and ribald song and merriment. The 
square (if that which was of another shape could be 
called such) was at the junction of several streets, and 
hence called the Five Points. It was an exceedingly 
dangerous neighborhood for any respectable man to get 
into at night, and few decent folks were so incautious as to 
venture thither after dark, unless under the protection of 
the police. 

The street in which the hack stopped with Kate, and 
her charge, was the vilest of the whole, but all these 
revolting features of her ride had escaped her attention. 

* Which is the house?^ inquired the driver, roughly, for 
even his low standard of self-respect was offended at being 
down there. 

With more readiness than Mrs. Mudge had thought the 
little girl capable of, badly hurt as she was, Biddy looked 
out of the window and pointing to an old wooden tenement, 
jammed into a sort of ‘ rotton row,^ told him that was the 
place. 


258 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

‘ Well/ said he, ‘ I ain’t a goin’ ter drive through all 
that slush. I don’t know how deep it is, for it’s dark as 
pitch here,’ 

‘ It arn’t over my knees,’ said little Biddy. 

won’t ventnr’ it. Yer must get out here ; it’s 
enough to pizen my horses,’ said he, half angrily. 

‘ You’ll help me in with her?’ said Kate, descending 
from the vehicle, on to the narrow filthy walk. 

* Oh, of course, marml’ replied the jehu ; whip in hand, 
and holding open the door ; ‘ but I’ll take my fare first.’ 

‘ How much is it?’ 

‘ Only a dollar, marm,’ 

‘ That is double price,’ said Kate, handing him the coin. 

‘ It is dog cheap, marm. It’ll be worth half on’t to clean 
my carriage to-morrow. Of course you’ll want me to stop 
and take you home again? You won’t stop in that hole 
more than two minutes, I s’pose ?’ 

Kate believed that the scamp would repeat his extor- 
tion, and indignant at the advantage which he had already 
taken, replied ‘ no, he need not wait.’ 

‘ Take you back for half a dollar, marm,’ said he. 

^Ko,’ she replied, not reflecting how difficult and 
dangerous it would be to go by herself ; ‘ help me take 
this poor little thing into the house, and I will not trouble 
you any further.’ 

‘Yer a fool,’ grumbled the driver to himself ‘ and a 
greenhorn.’ 

He lifted Biddy out of the hack, and placing her on the 
walk, said, coarsely, ‘There, stan’ up, can’t yer? Yer 
ain’t hurt half so bad as yer make believe I’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


259 


With this, he jumped on to his box and drove off ; leaving 
Mrs. Mudge to get Biddy into the house the best way she 
could. 

This was not so difficult as, at first, she feared it would 
be, for the little girl, whose piteous moans had entirely 
subsided, managed, by dint of a little limping, and the help 
of her new friend, to hobble to a basement, at the bottom 
of whose dark, steep, mouldy steps, the ghmmer of a light 
appeared. 

‘ Old^grandmither is a dyinV said Biddy, ‘ and mither 
has a light a-burnin^’ 

Descending with some difficulty, they knocked at the 
door. 

‘ Who^s there?^ cried a woman^s voice within. ‘ Is that 
yous, Jock McGuire 

‘ jN’o, it’s me mither, — ^it’s Biddy.’ 

* Is’t yous, Biddy, sure?’ 

‘ Troth it is. Open quick. I been runned over, and 
it’s a nice lady it is, that’s come home wid me I’ 

The door was opened without further parley, and a 
large-sized, miserably-clad woman received them into her 
wretched abode, with more interest, Kate thought, in her^ 
than in the hurts her child had received. Still, she took 
Biddy in her arms, and kissing her dirty little face, laid 
her upon a heap of straw in one corner, by the side of a 
little urchin with pale, peaked features, and a pair of eyes 
like a lizard’s. 

‘ Scratch !’ she exclaimed, as she bent over the straw, 

^ ye spalpane, shut yer eyes and go to slape, or I’ll drive 
ye out to lodge in the strate.’ Then, giving Biddy a 

# 


260 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

crust of bread, she told her to eat it, and not disturb her 
poor granny wid her noise. 

‘ But,' said Kate, ‘ it will be necessary to dp something 
for your child at oncel' 

' She’ll be betther when she gets over it, marm,’ said 
the woman. ‘ She’s not kilt. But look here marm ; look 
at this poor soul just parting from her body I’ And taking 
the smoky and rancid-smelling candle in her hand, she 
conducted her visitor to another corner where, upon a 
heap of filthy rags, lay an old woman, apparently breath- 
ing her last. ‘ An’ no praste wid her! My own mither 
a-dyin’ widout the benefit of the clargy I Look at the poor 
crather wid her eyes fixed on the blissed crucifix, on the 
wall anent, and her hands clasped— them hands that used 
to dandle me whin I was a babby — an’ me here a-letting 
her die like a h’athen, widout a praste to forgive her sins! 
Ochoon; ochoonl’ And then she spoke again to the 
children. ^ Biddy, quit yer laughing and talking wid 
Scratch Gravel, the thafe iv the world I He pays his two 
cints to slape hare and not to be disturbin’ the dyin’ wid 
his diviltry, I’m thinkin.’ Bad luck to him, it’s him that’ll 
slape in the station-hoose the morrow 1’ 

True enough, Biddy had so wonderfully recovered from 
her fractures or bruises, that she had got into quite a glee 
» in whispering to her fellow-lodger her adventure, and with 
what successful art she had drawn the charitable lady to 
poor' old granny’s relief. Her pretended accident and 
injury had been all a sham — a trick by which she had 
often before, of a dark night, duped the 'charitable and 
credulous who happened to be by And if the carriage 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 261 

which she feigned had run over her was stopped, and it 
contained any passengers, they, were usually mulcted by 
the crowd in a tolerable sum for her benefit. During the 
day her mother would sit for hours together upon a door- 
step in Broadway, holding her in her lap as if she were sick, 
and holding out one hand for charitable pennies. 

Such are two of the many little ways and means by 
which the miserably-destitute women and children of the 
Five Points contrive to eke out their precarious subsis- 
tence. And after all, notwithstanding we are inclined to 
hold up our hands when we hear of these impostures, and 
exclaim at the moral turpitude of “ the dregs of our 
population,” their artifices are not half so culpable, in one 
sense, as “ the tricks of trade,” so called, which are quite 
common among certain store-keepers, manufacturers, and 
even mechanics. 

Are they any worse than the adulteration of drugs, 
upon the quality and efficacy of which fife itself often 
depends ? 

Aie they any worse than the manufacture of poisonous 
fluids, to pass for certain wines and liquors ? 

Ars they any worse than the stamping and labelling of 
articles, spuriously, to pass for other and more saleable 
manufactures and preparations ? 

Are they any worse than the false representations by 
which irresponsible merchants obtain credit ? 

Or by which a lawyer obtains a verdict ? 

Or by which certain banks and insurance companies on 
a bad foundation, prey upon the community ? 

Are they any worse than the sham work of contrac- 
tors and house-builders ? 


262 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

Are they any worse than the pretensions of certain 
medical men, and patent-medicine makers ? 

Are they any worse than the pipe-laying of politicians 
— the log-rolling and trickery of legislators — or the 
swindles by which aldermen, and other functionaries, 
fatten upon the public plunder ? 

We might go on enumerating (and perhaps include 
even book-making in the same category), but will halt, 
and go back with less distaste to Mistress Judy M'Guire. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Life and Death near the Old Brewery — The Somnambulist. 

The crucifix, upon which the sick woman had her eyes 
fastened almost immovably, while her lips moved, yet with- 
out sound, as if in silent prayer, was a brazen or copper 
cross, about four inches high, fastened to the wall, near 
her face, and to which was attached • an effigy, in silver, 
of the Saviour. 

* Poor creature said Kate, full of pity, and she 
thought to herself, ‘ Has she any conception, now, while 
she looks, of the majesty, and sweetness and glory of her 
Lord and mine, or has she, with much gazing at that 
curious little metallic crucifix, come to regard the cross as 
a copper one, and Christ a silver Saviour ? Does her 
adoration rise above that material figure, or is her mute 
worship directed to the effigy alone V 

* Mither 1^ said the woman, speaking loudly, and close 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 263 

to her ear, ‘ here’s a nice lady come to see yous, and give 
us some money to bring the praste.’ 

‘ Eh ?’ said the sick one, vacantly. 

Her daughter repeated what she had said, but in a 
still louder tone. 

^May the great God Almighty bliss her I’ was the 
reply, but in a low, broken voice, for her respiration had 
become quick and difficult. 

‘ Are you in much pain V inquired Kate, compassion- 
ately. 

* Spake louder,’ said Judy, * she didn’t hear yous.’ 

The question was repeated. 

* Och, it’s all over me, dreadful,’ was the reply, and 
there was a spasmodic twitching of the muscles of the 
emaciated face ; but still the sunken eyes were never for 
a moment averted from the crucifix. Once or twice she 
raised her hand slowly, and with difficulty, to her eyes, 
and made a movement as if there were a mist before her 
sight, which she would brush away, but still their gaze 
was directed to the metallic miniature cross. 

‘ Fale iv the poor crathur’s arms,’ said Judy, uncovering 
her tenderly. ‘ There^s not a ha’porth iv flesh on her 
bones. But see how her chist is swelled wid the dhropsy !’ 

There was a large dark spot upon the sick woman’s 
face, which led Kate to fear that corruption was already 
claiming its victim. 

‘ How long has that black spot been there V she 
inquired. 

* Iver since Jock shtruck her wid his ouwn divil’s hand ; 
an’ may his sowl niver have a mass, or a prayer, through 
purgatory, for it,’ exclaimed the woman, with sudden pas- 


264 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

sion, and intermingling some oaths, which induced Kate to 
glance instinctively to the children ; but they were fast 
' asleep, and snoring as blissfully as any child of wealth. If 
they had not been, the profanity would have made 
no new impression upon them— they had been accustomed 
to it from infancy, and were themselves fluent in it. 

‘ To strike his own wife's mither, and she an ould, help- 
less crathur, not able to lift so much as a finger against 
him!' ejaculated Judy, with vehement contempt. 

* Was he indeed so brutal?' exclaimed Kate, indignantly. 

‘ Yis, mam. He came home dhrunk as a baste, as he 
often did, but I was off that onlooky night, an' he bate 
her like a sack ; bad 'cess to him ! Whin I came to my 
tiniment (for which he has never paid a penny for the 
rint), I found poor mither, here, a moanin' sorely, and 
Biddy, though she said her father (it's not her ouwn 
father, my lady ; her ouwn father's dead — heaven rest his 
dear sowl, but her step-father, she said) would murther 
her if he knew she 'peached, but it was him that had been 
bating granny I We had a bit iv a fight, yous may be 
sure, marm, whin he shewed his ugly mug in my house 
again, and I guv him a hyst into the strate. That was 
Sunday week, and he hasn't been back since ; the better 
luck! Ill betide the day I married him in Boston, and 
come to New York wid him. I was a dacent crathur 
once, and well to do, but he has been the ruination iv me 1' 

‘I am sorry for you,' said Kate, but see this poor 
woman! surely she is at her last gasp.' 

‘An' me, shame to me, fretting about by own troubles!' 
said the woman, in a tone of self-reproach. ‘Mither, 
mither, spake to me I' she cried ; and shedding a flood of 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 265 

tears, as she kissed the forehead of the dying person. But 
there was no response. A feeble moan was followed by a 
convulsive shiver, and all the old woman^s earthly troubles 
were over. Even in death, her eyes were fixed upon the 
copper cross and silver efiSgy of Jesus. 

* Ochoon, she’s dead intirely. She niver will spake to 
me again,’ cried Judy, in great distress. Oh I mither, 
mitherl It’s hard life we’ve led iv late, and it’s kilt ye. 
Ochoon, ochoon! She was the only crathur that loved 
me I’ 

The rough woman was a sincere mourner, and kneeling 
by the squalid couch, she kissed her many times, groaning 
piteously, and bathing the inanimate countenance with her 
tears. 

Silently reproaching herself because she had uttered no 
word of supplication to God in behalf of a fellow-being, 
passing, before her eyes, from life into death, Kate asked 
the mourner if she should pray. 

^The Lord Almighty bless yous, my swate lady!’ sobbed 
the woman. ^ The praste came wonst till her, and pro- 
mised to again, but I haven’t paid my dues this many a 
day, an’ we poor people stand a bad chance wid the clargy.’ 

Rising from the body, she detached the crucifix from 
the wall, and kissing it, and crossing herself devoutly, 
placed it upon the bed directly in front of where her 
visitor was about to kneel. Kate’s feelings revolted at it, 
for to her it appeared like worshiping a graven image. 

‘ We shall not need the crucifix, Judy,’ said she, kindly, 
as she removed the miniature, and laid it near the head of 
the corpse ; * the Son of God, our Blessed Redeemer, 
eT fcr liveth to make intercession for us at the right hand of 
12 


266 NETV ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

tht Father^ on high. No human device, and no earthly 
object ought to arrest or stand between our supplication 
and our dear Saviour in Heaven. I don’t want any man 
or image, to stand between me and my Redeemer. And 
oh ! what a glorious privilege it is, that we may go to Him 
like little children unto a kind father. They need no one 
to plead for them with their parents, Judy, nor do we, 
any but the Great Intercessor, who was ordained from the 
beginning of the world, even Christ himself, God in the 
flesh.’ 

‘ May He bless yous marm, foriver and iver marm ; but 
it’s jist as we are larnt,’ said Mrs. McGuire ; ‘ but aprotes- 
tint prayer would be no good to the sowl of a true' 
Catholic, as my poor mither was to the last breath iv her 
body.’ 

There was the slightest possible tincture of pride, and 
even of contempt, in the voice and look of the woman as 
she spoke. 

‘ God is no respecter of persons, nor of sects, and so 
that the supplication arises from a sincere and earnest 
heart to His throne, it is no matter whether that heart 
beat under a ragged garment, or a vestment of purple and 
flne linen — or whether it is breathed by a protestant beggar 
or a Catholic priest,’ said Mrs. Mudge. ‘ But no prayer, 
either Catholic or protestant, Judy, would be of any 
service to your mother now. Her spirit has fled beyond 
any mortal influence either good or bad ; and let us hope 
that she is happy in heaven.’ 

‘ Sure there shall be one mass said for the rapose of her 
sowl, if I have to stale the money to pay for it! I’m not 
60 mane as to grudge her that much !’ cried Judy. * Whin 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 26T 

my darlint was burnt to death wid de fire in Boston, we 
had a nice wake and the candles all decent and respectable 
like ; and when Phalin, my first hoosband died (alack the 
day!) we had masses said for the pace iv his sowl. But 
thim was bether times! I remimber a nice jontleman, 
though he was protestint — his name was Fairbanks (shall 
I iver forgit it ? troth, no!) he towld me the same things 
that yous have, but fath, they wint in at one ear an’ out 
at the ither.’ 

‘ Is it possible,’ cried Kate, in amazement, * that you are 
the same woman who had a child burnt to death, in 
Hatter’s-square, six or eight years ago, and received 
some assistance from two ladies by the name of Godwin 
and Mr. Fairbanks V 

^ Troth I am!’ replied Judy, wonderingly. 

* Truth is indeed stranger than fiction!’ cried Kate. 
* What a strange coincidence it is, that I should again 
meet you under similar circumstances!’ 

* What mane yous V said the woman. 

^ Why Judy,’ replied Kate, ‘ I saw you at that wake.’ 

* At my darlint’s wake ?’ 

‘Yes, I was one of the party with Mr. Fairbanks,’ said 
Mrs. Mudge. 

‘ Sure yous a-chating me!’ cried Mrs, McGuire, half 
incredulous and entirely astonished. 

‘Don’t you remember the one whom Mr. Fairbanks 
called Kate ?’ 

‘ Yous is not the nice lady that blissed jontleman was 
to marry ?’ cried the woman, holding the light towards her. 

‘ No, I was with Nathan Mudge. My name was Kate 
Godwin.’ 


268 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

' Och, darlintl^ cried Judy, joyfully, ‘now I remimber 
yous ! Oh, my dear, swate young lady, may the blessing 
of God and the howly saints rist upon yous, for yons kind- 
ness to the poor widdy I An’ how d’ye do, and how have 
yous been this many along day ? Och, sure, yous changed 
as well as mysel I I remimber yous were as rosy and 
bright, then, as a beautiful morning in June. Sure, it’s 
ailing ye’ve been ?’ 

‘ I have recently had a fit of sickness,’ replied Kate. 

‘ An’ Mr. Fairbanfe — the dear man — I suppose he mar- 
ried the nice Miss, an’ they’re living swately, wid a hoose 
fu’ o’ Childers ?’ 

Kate answered in the negative. 

‘ Sure she is living V 

‘ Yes.’ 

‘ An’ true to him ? 

‘ As true as truth itself.’ 

‘ An’ not married ? Troth, for wonst in his life, the 
jointleman was wrong. Sivin years is a musha long time 
to kape a poor lass a-waiting. They gits heart-sick wid 
the suspinse, and lose all their good looks.’ 

‘It is not his fault,’ replied Kate. ‘She herself has 
deferred their union.’ 

‘ For a mighty good raison, T hope,’ said Judy, ‘for it 
must be a great trial to him, and a sore temptation.’ 

‘ An’ yous, yesilf. Miss Kate, ye married that cheery 
little fellow, iv coorse. Arrah! he was a broth iv a boy I’ 

‘ He is my husband,’ replied Kate. 

‘An’ he makes yous a faithful old man, and yous is 
happy?’ inquired the woman, with a more inquisitive look 
than she had used. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 269 

Kate sighed, and without returning a direct answer, she 
replied, ‘ our only consolation in adversity is from above. 
We both need it ; let us both pray for it. Will you kneel 
with me, Judy, while I pray V 

‘Troth I wulV said Judy. 

The two women knelt together, and Kate raised an 
earnest, simple petition to the Throne of Grace, for God 
to help them in their time of need. 

When they had risen to their feet, Mrs. Mudge looked 
at her watch, and noticing for the first time the extreme 
lateness of the hour, she said, 

‘ I will go now, and see you again to-morrow. You 
have neighbors, I presume, who will help you to lay out 
the body V 

‘Mver a one,^ replied Judy. ‘Pm bad enou^ meseP, 
widout makin’ acquaintance wid any iv the catamaroons 
what lives about here I Jock used to bring divils enou’ 
home wid him, but I want the company o’ none iv ’em.’ 

‘ Then I will help you,’ said Kate, though I have no 
experience in these melancholy duties.’ 

‘ But, it’s meseP that has,’ said Judy sadly. There was 
my hoosband an’ my darlint b’y in Boston, and two chil- 
der, Pat and Mary, in this big city — ^bad look till the day 
I come to it I — these hands laid them arl in their wind- 
ing sheets.’ 

‘Your aMictions have been heavy, indeed I’ said her visi- 
tor, in a tone of deep sympathy. 

‘ It’s a jidgment for my sinsj I suppose,’ said the woman, 
with a groan. 

‘God orders these bereavements for a wise purpose, 
undoubtedly,’ said Kate. ‘ They are powerful reminders 


210 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

of our own feebleness and dependence. When trusting to 
the arm of flesh, we are self-confident and forgetful of our 
indebtedness to God for every breath that we draw, and 
all that we have.^ 

‘Well, there ain’t no use fretting,’ said the woman, dry- 
ing her eyes ; ‘ I must go to work.’ 

Warming some water by a small portable furnace, in 
the fireplace, she proceeded, with Mrs. Mudge’s assistance, 
to prepare the body of her mother for the grave. This 
work occupied more than an hour, during which no more 
words were interchanged than were necessary. When 
this duty was done, Judy placed upon her own neck, after 
kissing it repeatedly, an amulet, which she had taken from 
the corpse. 

‘ The dear old sowl,’ she said, * had worn it ever since 
she was a child, to keep the evil spirits arf, and now I’ll 
wear it till my time comes,’ 

Her visitor wondered at her superstition, but said 
nothing. 

Poor Judy McGuire had kept hid away against occa- 
sion, a couple of sperm candles. These she lit, and stick- 
ing them into two junk bottles, still fragrant with rum, 
placed one at the head and the other at the feet of the 
corpse. She then set adjusted upon the body the crucifix 
of which we have before spoken ; and, apparently well 
satisfied with the manner in which she had completed the 
work, handed Kate the only chair in the room, and kneel- 
ing down by the side of thb bed, with a string of beads 
in her hands, she kept her lips moving rapidly, but with- 
out any audible sound, for some minutes. 

The deathly silence was suddenly broken by a sharp, 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 2Tl 

boyish, treble voice, startling Kate from her meditations, 
for it was in the same room. 

It was the shrill cry of a newsboy — 

‘ ^Ere’s the Sun hextra ; and second edition the 
Herald! ’Rival o’ Steamer 1’ 

Turning quickly to the corner, whence the cry pro- 
ceeded, she saw the little, peaked face of the recumbent 
newsboy. He was evidently fast asleep, for his snoring 
was audible in a moment afterwards, as it had been before ; 
but his mouth moved, as if he were still shouting. 

The lad slept in his clothes, without any other covering, 
upon the straw ; where lay, too, little Biddy, snoring 
like a pig. 

Judy McGuire had taken no notice of his cry, but 
continued to mutter her prayers, and push a bead along 
on the string, for every one she said. 

In a few moments afterwards the boy got up (but evi- 
dently in his sleep) and carrying his left arm as if he had 
a bundle under it, and holding his right hand to his mouth 
as the manner of the newsvenders . is, to condense the 
sound, he again pitched his squeaking voice to it’s highest 
note, while he walked around the room and cried, 

‘Rival o’ Steamer! Sun and Herald Extra!’ And 
then added in a lower tone, as he held out his hand to the 
kneeling woman, ‘ buy the Herald, sir ? Latest edition. 
Got the great fire an’ loss o’ life!’ 

Judy arose with less impatience than Kate had looked 
for, upon this grotesque interruption of her devotions, and 
taking the somnambulist by the collar, led him silently to 
a part of the room where her wash-tub was ; then filling 
the hollow of her hand with water, cast it into his face. 


2T2 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

saying at the same time, ‘ Will yous nivir git over yons 
old tricks o’ walkin’ in yous slape, Misther Scratch Gravel?^ 

The poor boy, to whom the reader has been introduced, 
in company with Mr. J ohn Hard, was rather shame-faced 
when this cool salutation suddenly awoke him ; and shak- 
ing ojff the water as a disagreeable stranger, he picked his 
way to the straw again, and laid down, with his little 
lizard eyes fixed upon the candles and the corpse, in silent 
wonder. 

* It’s the only way we can wake him in a hurry,’ said 
Judy, apologetically for the summary sample of hydro- 
pathy — and she filled her tobacco pipe, and sat down in 
the chimney to smoke. ‘ The spalpeen is a poor off-shoot 
and a foundling. If ye wud stop "v^dd the body till morn- 
ing, my dear lady, and not lave the poor widdy alone, we 
could pass the time by prating about his history.^ 

Kate consented to remain until daylight. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Developes some facts of the utmost importance to Scratch Gravel—— 
The Suicide — Foul wrong somewhere in High Life. 

It may have occurred to the reader, that considering the 
locality, and the sordid poverty of the dwelling, to say 
nothing of the disreputable character of its occupants, it 
was a wonder that Mrs. Mudge should have remained in 
Judy McGuire’s basement even for a single hour. Few 
ladies would have ventured thither, even in the daytime, 
you will say. True, but in that lawless quarter, at the 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 2t3 

period of which we write, the cloak of darkness was 
actually safer for a decent woman than the glare of day. 
In the obscurity of night, she would be certain to be 
regarded as one of the denizens of the Five Points ; and, 
under its cover, much of the wretchedness and filth of the 
place would be hidden from her own view. 

Mistress McGuire’s basement was certainly not a 
Beacon-street palace, nor a Fifth Avenue parlor. 'No 
one could have mistaken it for either the one or the other. 
Even a blind man, if he had not lost the sense of smelling, 
as well as sight, would have detected the difference at 
once. He would have noticed, also, that beneath his 
tread there was no carpet, nor a smooth floor, nor even a 
sanded one, but much rubbish, in a small way — or dirt — 
that a good broom in two willing hands could have 
remedied. Whatever may have been her other virtues, 
certainly neatness was not among them. Emulation, and 
the force of. example, and ‘ approbativeness’ (as the phre- 
nologists call it), make more tidy housewives, perhaps, 
than any innate love of cleanliness. IJ's'eatness, wp suspect, 
is one of the conventionalities of life (against which some 
of the social reformers declaim), and grows out of that 
* false organization of society,’ which it is so important 
that females of a philosophical and cosmopolitan turn of 
mind should lecture about, around the country. Cleanliness, 
possibly, is not more an inherent quality of our nature, 
than courage ; and some metaphysicians, we all know, 
allege that men are naturally cowards. There are thou- 
sands of long-bearded, unkempt and unwashed men, in the 
mines of California this day, utterly careless of their 
personal appearance, who, at home, in ^ good society,’ so- 

12 * 


274 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

called, were pained by a lack of polish on their boots, and 
indignant' at any blemish upon their shirt-bosom. They 
now discover in the equanimity with which they can wear 
a shirt a month, and have a thorough wash only twice a 
year, that their former neatness was of social growth, 
fostered by enftilation and custom. 

Judy took sofne little — a very little — ^pains to be neat, 
when she first reifioved from Boston to her present resi- 
dence, but she had', met with no competition, and conse- 
quently no encoura^ment. Cleanliness, it was evident, 
was not one of the conventionalities of the Five Points, 
whatever it might be elsewhere, and finding no rival in the 
use of the broom, Judy McGuire soon ceased to sweep her 
room every day ; and, shortly afterwards, once a month 
appeared superfluous ; and then Jock put an end to the 
question, summarily, by selling the besom for a glass of 
rum, to an inexperienced grocer who, meeting with a 
misfortune, had just moved into that quarter out of a 
respectable neighborhood, and fancied that a broom would 
be useful. 

Something traditional, however, remained in Judy’s 
memory in respect to the ancient custom of “ sweeping 
up” occasionally, and it led her to apologize to Kate for 
the appearance of the ashes, cinders, bits of paper, and 
dirt in general, with which the floor was pretty well 
covered. 

‘ Jock, the thafe iv the world,’ said she, ‘ wint and sowld 
a beautiful nice broom that I had, for a horn o’ whiskey ; 
and niver brought home a dhrap iv it ! That’s going on 
for two year ago.’ 

Judy w as not a lone instance of uncleanliness. Twd-’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 2^5 

thirds of all the very poor foreign families occupying 
apartments in the cities, appear to place a low value upon 
the use of the broom, the duster, the. scouring cloth, and 
soap and water. With a few years of experience as a 
* visitor^ in connection with the ‘ New York Association 
for Improving the Condition of the Popr,^ the reader 
could not fail to be struck with the fact, that those appli- 
cants for aid who have the least to do, and complain the 
most of a lack of employment, always have the ijiost 
dirty and sluttish apartments. And such is the distaste 
of these poor pensioners for the task of keeping them- 
selves and their rooms, even tolerably clean, that should 
the society just named make it a sim qua non, and require 
them to ke£p dean, or do without their tickets for fuel, 
shoes and groceries, they would probably choose the latter 
alternative. Still, under all this discouragement (and it 
is significant of much more behind it), this excellent 
institution distributes, in weekly disbursements, to the poor 
of New York city, a sum exceeding sixty thousand dol- 
lars annually. Perfect system is observed in this charity. 
The city is divided into a certain number of sections — 
about 350 — to each of which is assigned a visitor, whose 
services are gratuitous. It is his duty to visit and aid 
with tickets upon the society’s grocers, shoe dealers, and 
coal merchants, for a small amount, any applicants (over 
five years in the country) whom he may find to be deserv- 
ing of help. He records the names of the recipients, 
their origin, whether native or foreign, their occupati<‘-n, 
the number in their families, of males and of female^., the 
cause of their destitution, the number of his visits, and 
what he gives them. On the first of every moi ih, he ren- 


276 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

ders an account in due form to the committee of the asso- 
ciation for his district. A district includes a number of 
sections. Those destitute persons who have been in the 
country less than five years are aided by the Commission- 
ers of Emigration. 

Without some such thoroughly systematic supervision 
of the physical necessities of the poor in a city like New 
York, many would die of hunger and cold ; but since the 
organization of this glorious regiment of charitable volun- 
teers to fight against Want and Starvation, instances of 
death for the lack of food and fuel have been very 
rare. 

It may not be superfluous here to say, that the visitor 
has nothing to do with the materials of the donations ; 
his distributions being in orders payable in groceries, fuel, 
and shoes. And again, that the Association has a per- 
manent claim to gifts of money from every benevolent 
citizen, by which to continue and increase the utility of 
this philanthropic establishment — really the noblest fea- 
ture of New York — and, by all odds, those who should 
give most, are the wealthy naturalized residents, inasmuch 
as ninety-nine in a hundred of the recipients of this insti- 
tion’s charities are of foreign birth. 

But to return from this digression, to Mistress Judy 
McGuire. The institution which we have described was 
not in operation in her day, and consequently had not 
extended to her either friendly counsel or more substan- 
tial aid ; and, certainly, her premises were not a very 
nice place for a young lady, reared in comfort, to call at, 
much less to remain in over night ; and most assuredly 
Kate did not fancy it ; but she well knew, that the truest 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 2tt 

way to sympathize with the poor, and elevate the degraded, 
is to ascertain their wants, physical and moral, and 
humanely administer to them, personally, at their own 
homes. The road to success in such missions of mercy is 
no primrose path, and if it have any flowers, they all bud 
and blossom, and yield their sweet incense in the hearts 
of those who travel it. 

Were the walks to the dwellings of the destitute car- 
peted with brussels or tapestry, and the air laden with 
mUU Jkurs, or other perfume, and the houses nicely swept 
and garnished, many thousands of benevolently-minded 
ladies (young and attractive, too, perhaps) would visit 
them ; but what with filthy localities and apartments, 
and clothing rank with the dirt and perspiration of months^ 
standing, and breaths eloquent of rum and onions, the task 
is too revolting for the daughters of luxury, and even for 
those of less* refinement. However, Kate had not given 
a thought to any such consideration. She acted purely 
from impulse. A fellow-being was in distress, and all her 
thoughts were concentrated upon assisting and consoling 
her. Naturally of an energetic and courageous character, 
from childhood, her experience, subsequent to her hasty 
marriage, was of a kind well calculated to establish her 
self-reliance. Had she lived in the earlier settlement of 
the country, when the ruthless Indian warfare often 
developed extraordinary presence of mind and intrepidity 
in the gentler sex, Kate Mudge would have been among 
the bravest. 

She had (:onsented to watch with the dead, in that low 
dwelling of poverty and vice, not from a fine theory of 
duty, but from the dictates of humanity, unrestrained by 


2T8 new ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

any prudential considerations ; and having resolved to 
remain there until morning, she listened with patient 
equanimity, and even with some degree of interest to 
what Judy had to say about the newsboy. 

^ Little Scratch, ihere,^ she began — 

‘ That is not the boy^s name V interrupted Kate. 

‘ Sure it is,' replied Judy (who was sitting at the cor- 
ner of the fireplace, upon an inverted wash-tub, in a posi- 
tion which elevated her knees almost as high as her chin), 

* Scratch is his name.' 

* A nick-name,' said'IS^ate. 

‘ Troth it is the Ould Nick's name,' rejoined the woman, 

* an' he is a limb of Satan anyhow.' 

‘ But what is his other name V inquired Kate, as we 
have shown in a previous chapter that John Hard had 
done, naturally enough regarding it as only a slang cog- 
nomen peculiar to the flash. 

‘ Gravel,' replied J udy ; ‘ Scratch Gravel. He's niver 
been called by any ither, though a betther properly belongs 
to him.' 

‘ And what is it ?' said her visitor. 

‘ Hist !' said Mrs. McGuire. ‘ Is the b'y aslape ?' and 
she turned her face to the corner where the children lay, 
both apparently in deep slumber. 

‘ He's fast,' she continued, in a re-assured tone, * and 
snoring like a little pig, as he is, in the straw there.' 

If she could have seen the rogue, the instant she 
averted her large masculine face, his resemblance to the 
juvenile swine to which she had compared him, would have 
been still more olivious in the manner in which he looked 
at her out of his funny little eyes ; but as she could not 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 2t9 

see, like the clairvoyants, out of the back of her head, 
his wakefulness escaped detection. 

What with the corpse and the candles, and the beauti- 
ful lady, and a quantity of undigested cocoa-nut candy, 
he had been kept awake, and now, that he himself had 
become the subject of conversation, he was all attention, 
though skilfully shamming the most profound somnolency, 
and breathing mainly through his nose; a process attended 
with some difficulty, the organ being, in his case, a small 
one. 

‘He was found on the beach, ^ said Judy, knocking the 
ashes out of her pipe, and replacing it upon the jog whence 
she had taken it. 

‘ Upon the beach cried Kate. ‘ What do you mean V 

‘ I mane what I say,^ replied Judy, ‘ that he was found 
upon the shore, at Coney Island.^ 

‘ Where is that V 

‘ Ouwnly a thrifle away from here, they tell me, but I 
niver set fut in it.^ 

‘ How old was the poor child ? 

‘ Not more’n two wakes.^ 

‘Was the poor thing cast ashore from some wreck 
inquired Kate. 

‘ No ; near by, a young crathur^s body — a poor girl — 
was found washed upon the sand, an’ it was the gineral 
belafe, as she was known in this neighborhood, that she 
had drownded herseP and meant to droon the childer, but, 
somehow, didn’t do it, for the little spalpane was found by 
a clam-digger, clawing away on the sand and gravel, for 
dear life.’ 

‘ He must have been astonished I’ 


280 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

*The babby 

‘ The man, at discovering an infant scratching along, 
all alone, on the brink of the ocean,^ replied Kate. 

‘ Troth he was not all alone,’ said Judy. 

‘ True,’ rejoined Kate. * The providence of God was 
with him.’ 

‘ And the poor young thing, his mither,’ added Judy. 

* But she was dead ?’ said Kate, interrogatively. 

‘As the sea-shells she lay on,’ responded Judy. 

‘ The clam-digger that foond the babby said he thought 
at the first iv it, whin he saw it a long way arf, that it 
was a seal, or a sea-dog, or maybees a young maremaid ; 
an’ uf he’d a had a gun he would ha’ shot it. He tuck 
up a big stun, and walkin’ along as uf he had been walkin’ 
on eggs, wid both his two eyes fixed on the babby, like 
saucers in bigness, lest it should jump into the say before 
he should guv it a big knock ; on a suddint, not lookin’ 
wonst to his steps, he stumbled against the corpse iv the 
mither I An’ it’s a frighted man he was, an’ wud ha’ turned 
as white as the froth on the say, I supposes, but he was 
a nagur. He lived in this tiniment marm — ^in this ver^ 
cellar — and died here, that clam-man, two year ago. I 
was his tinant whin I first came here. His wife died, and 
thin fie guv it up altogidder to me ; but lodged here for 
a time.’ 

‘ But what did he do with the body and the child ?’ 

‘ There were rings on the fingers iv the poor crathur, 
and ear-drops, and a pictur iv a jointleman, and a nice 
handkerchief, an’ some letters, an’ a lace collar worth two 
or three dollars, and arl these things ould Cesar tuck 
away wid de babby, and brought home to his wife.’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 281 

* But what was done with the body 

* Cesar towld me his ould woman abused him at a flying 
rate, ’kase he didn’t rob the poor crathur iv arl her cloth- 
ing too, for he had said it was vallyble, and so he thought 
he wud go and stale away her silk gown at laste; for what 
good could it do her, poor sowl ? but whin he got down 
there again, some one else had diskivered it and it was 
in the hands iv the Crowner’s quist.’ 

^ Apd what was the verdict V 

‘ That she came to her bad end by drooning hersel’.’ 

* But the child V 

‘ Old Cesar, the clam-digger, shut his own clam-shells, 
and said nothin’. And he never said nothin’ to nobody 
about finding the child, or what he’d done except to his 
wife, while she lived, and to me afther she was dead.’ 

‘ Why not ? You say the child has another name.’ 

‘ Yes — the nagurs called him Scratch Gravel from the 
beginning, an’ everybody calls him so, but by good rights 
I belave if the gospil truth was known, his name ought to 
be’ 

Scratch was sitting up in the straw, with his eyes fixed 
upon the speaker, at this point in her dialogue, and his 
little hatchet-face leaning towards her. So intent was he, 
that she discovered him before he had time to dodge down 
into a horizontal position again. 

‘ Blood-and-oons !’ she exclaimed, half rising, * are yous 
awake ?’ 

“ Ere’s the Sun, Herald, second edition — ^’rivalo’ steam- 
er I’ cried the artful Scratch, with one hand to his mouth 
to help the sound, and then soU(hvocz, ‘buy a paper, mister?’ 

‘ Still talkin’ in yous slape, yous spalpane/ said Judy, 


282 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

and' going to the straw, she pushed him gently back into 
his former position, and he pretended to snore again. 

‘ The poor b’y,’ said the woman, as she resumed her 
seat ‘ is so full iv his business — which has always been 
sellin’ papers — and cries ^em so many thousan’ times V the 
day, it’s no wonder that it runs in his pate when aslape.’ 

‘ I should be afraid that he would sometimes go out the 
door in one of these fits of somnambulism, and meet with 
injury,’ rejoined Kate. 

‘ Sure no,’ replied Judy, ‘he’s done more hurt to me 
than to himsel’. One night he woke me up wid a whole 
quart a’ wather on my pate, and there wasn’t a dhrap lift 
to chuck on to him, to bring him out iv the fit I Fortunate 
he wint to his straw again, and slept it off, but I was 
mighty wet.’ 

If Judy had seen the boy’s face just then, she might 
have thought he was having a very pleasant dream. 

‘ You were going to say what you believed to be his 
right name,’ said Kate. 

‘ Ould Cesar towld me on his dith-bid that from the 
letters and the marks on one iv the rings, and the likeness 
in the pictur itsel’, the father of that b’y was one Pater 
Yan Wart, a man that rides in his own carriage, in a grand 
hoose in Broadway.’ 

As she said this. Scratch’s head was raised a little from 
the straw, and his eyes gleaming with wonder. 

‘ Can it be possible that Cesar’s conjecture was correct?’ 
said Kate. 

‘ Path I can’t say that,’ replied Mrs. McGuire, ‘ but 
he said that he had seen the jointleman often, an’ the pictur 
was as like him as two peas in a pod.’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 283 

* But does it resemble the boy V inquired Kate. 

* Sure I niver thought iv that same/ replied Judy, open 
ing her eyes with the ’magnitude of the idea. ‘ I’ll git yous 
the pictur.’ 

Scratch’s little spangle eyes followed the dame, as she 
arose from her seat, and went to a shelf which constituted 
her pantry. Taking down an old earthen tea-pot, minus 
both nose and handle, she turned out about a pint of dried 
beans, and at the bottom found the picture, which she then 
handed to Kate. 

It was a miniature painted upon a small iyory oval, and 
was without the frame, which, probably, being of conver- 
tible value, had been sold by Cesar, together with the 
jewelry, for the support of the child which his wife had 
* raised by hand.’ 

Kate examined it attentively for some moments. It 
was evidently the ‘ counterfeit presentment’ of a member 
of the ‘ higher circles.’ This might be inferred not only 
from the dress but from the features, which were small 
and delicate, with a certain indefinable general air of gentle 
breeding. The eyes were too small and close to the nose 
to be handsome, but they were keen and penetrating, and 
were overtopped by a rather Byronic brow, and head of 
short curly hair. 

‘ Let us compare it with the boy,’ she remarked, after 
a few moments, spent in examining the picture. 

Taking the miniature in one hand, and a light in the 
other, she went to the straw, where both the cliildren lay 
with their clothes on, as is the custom of thousands of the 
children of penury in New York, whose clothes never come 
off until they fall to pieces. 


284 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

Scratch had quickly shut his eyes and resumed his 
nasal respiration, when the strange lady bent over him and 
holding the light to his face, compared it with the miniature. 

* The resemblance is extraordinary,^ she remarked. 

* Is it exclaimed Mrs. McGruire, who was standing at 
the head of the humble bed on which the children lay. 

‘ The nose and chin, and general outline of the child^s 
face is like the picture. The forehead and hair are not, 
but the eyes would decide it. If I could only see them — ' 

The boy opened the lids for an instant, and gave her a 
keen look. 

It startled her, and she uttered a little cry of surprise, 
but the next moment he was apparently asleep. She 
would have doubted the evidence of her own senses, and 
thought she had only fancied it, like those devotees who 
affect to have seen ‘ a miraculous movement of the pupild 
in some picture of the Yirgin, had not a vivid impression of 
the exact resemblance of the eyes of the boy to those in 
the miniature, remained upon her mind for hours after- 
wards. 

* Certainly,^ she said to Mrs. McGuire, as she handed 
the light and portrait to her, ‘ the likeness is remarkable.^ 

Judy replaced the picture in the old stone teapot, and 
turning in again upon it the dry beans, ^eplacecf it upon 
the shelf ; not, however, without being observed by the 
watchful eyes of Scratch Gravel, which in a moment after 
filled with tears, while his little heart beat as it had never 
beat before. 

He was not unlike all other boys, after all — he had a 
somewhere I He would find him out — he would see 
him — ^he would make him own him — he would make him 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 285 

LOYE him! Such were the foremost of the thoughts which 
crowded into the poor boy’s mind, and caused the tears to 
trickle down into the straw, until he fell asleep again in 
earnest, to dream no more of the Sun and Herald^ but of 
a luxurious home and a kind parent in Broadway. 


CHAP’=f^:R XXXIY. 

John Hard stumbles into f difficulty, and is challenged — Declines 
being bored, and volur .ers an opinion, as is an opinion, upon 
Duelling. 

• 

J OHN heard nothl g at the breakfast-table but remarks 
upon the expected r >ce. Its announcement, weeks before, 
had attracted tho/^ -.ands of strangers from all quarters, 
more particularly i-om the South, where, heretofore, 
greater attention jad been given to the breed of fast 
horses than in the Xorthern States. The principal hotels 
were overflowing with persons who had come to the city 
to witness the trial of speed, and every man felt committed 
to the horse which represented his half of the country. 
Betting is a foolish custom, but the fools are not all (^ead 
yet, and of course there were more of them in that day. 
So bets were rife upon ‘ Postboy’ and ‘ Bascomb,’ unsight 
unseen, a week before the trial ; and early on the morning 
of the race, they grew thick and fast, mainly in favor of 
^he Northern horse. 

John Hard had always regarded race-courses as resorts 
of mere horse-jockeys and gamblers ; and he was astonish- 


286 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

ed to find a large room full of very respectable people 
neglecting their victuals, in talking and hearing others 
talk about the animals, and exchanging innumerable wagers 
upon the expected contest. He ate up everything within 
his reach, and wanted more, but the waiters were talking 
and betting too, or standing open-mouthed, hearing the 
gemrmnh remarks, and carefully treasuring away in mind 
any horse wisdom that chanced to fall from their lips. 

‘Hello you, there, mister 1^ said John to one of them, 
who, with his salver under his arm, was conversing with 
two other members of the white-jacket fraternity, and 
counting some bills into the hands of one of them, ‘ ain’t 
ye goin’ to give a feller somethin’ to chaw upon?’ 

‘ Yes, sir,’ replied the colored servitor ; ‘ soon’s I is 
done deposited de stakes.’ 

‘ You jest deposit some steak down here in front o’ my 
plate, and let your bettin’ be till arter breakfast. I’m as 
hungry as a shark,’ said Mr. Hard. 

‘ Yes, massa. What boss does ye bet on, massa?’ said 
the waiter whom he had addressed ; whereupon the other 
two showed all their ivory, and turned away to laugh. 

‘Mind yer business,’ said John, and ‘get me a steak ; 
and let it be a good sized one ; and bring me some flap- 
jacks and apple-sarce, and a pickled cowcumber, and a 
hunk o’ brown bread with plenty o’ butter, and a tumbler 
^o’ milk.’ 

‘Dat all, massa?’ said Julius Csesar. 

‘ I don’t care if ye fetch along a piece o’ cheese,’ replied 
John. ‘I may think o’ somethin’ else when ye comeback.’ 

But in the kitchen the waiter got into a warm discussion 
with the cook, while the steak was on the fire, as to what 


THE THRJE APPRENTICES. 287 

was, or what was not a wager on the race, which he had 
laid with him the day before ; and, in the meantime, the ' 
meat was done as black as the betters, and John himself 
was burning with impatience. 

At this unpropitious time, while he was full of emptiness 
and dissatisfaction mth the waiters^ neglect of their duty, 
one of them asked him in a confidential way, as he sat the 
spoiled steak down before him, what he thought of the 
Southern horse. 

‘Blast the Southern horse T exclaimed Mr. Hard, out 
of all patience. 

Several gentlemen from the south of Mason & Dixon^s 
line rose promptly to their feet ; for the remark had been 
heard above all their talking. 

‘ You must take that back, sir,^ roared the most eager 
of them, reddening with wrath. 

‘ Yes ; make him take it back,’ cried the others. 

‘Well, I guess it won’t be any more’n right,’ said John. . 

‘ If not done,’ — said the Southern gentleman, threaten- 
ingly. ‘ ’ Twas done too q[uick,’' interrupted our friend — 

‘ that’s a fact.’ 

‘Take it back then!’ cried the other again. ‘ Colonel, 
make him take it back I’ 

All at the table, John excepted, had now risen to their 
feet, and the words, ‘ Yes, take it back,’ were repeated by 
many, even by some Northern men. 

Mr. Hard was quite surprised at the interest manifested, 
and taking up the dish of steak, he handed it to the waiter, 
saying, ‘ Well, I guess ye may as well take it back, waiter. 
I wouldn’t mind, ye know, but as all the gentlemen insist 
that ye shall take it back, I guess ye’d better dew it, 


288 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

and bring me a good one. And don’t forget the flap- 
jacks.’ 

A roar of laughter followed ; for John’s remark and 
manner made it manifest that he honestly imagined that 
it was the meat, and not the offensive words which they 
wanted taken back. They all resumed their seats; the 
most of them in great good humor. 

But to the irascible and rather thick-headed Colonel of 
the Buncombe Militia, this was not satisfactory; and inti- 
mating that he should appeal to the code of honor, he 
demanded that our friend should send him his card. 

^ I don’t carry any such truck about me, mister,’ rephed 
the young farmer ; ‘ but I guess it’s just as plain as day- 
light that I’m John Hard, of Massachusetts.’ 

‘Well, Mr. Hard,’ said the Colonel with a sneer, ‘I 
presume your hide, is not so hard but that you can be shot, 
as easy at least as a rhinoceros. I shall expect you to 
meet me, if you’re a gentleman.’ 

‘ That’s the very reason I won’t dew it, mister,’ replied 
J ohn. ‘ I a gentleman, and can bark a squarrel, with 
my old rifle, off the top of the highest oak that ever grew, 
but to fire at a target as large as you are — for you are 
kind o’ coppulent — would me nothin’ short o’ murder, and 
murderers ain’t gentlemen.’ 

A broad smile beamed all around the board, and gave 
still more offence to the Colonel, who was so irritated that 
he did not confine himself to the decorum of the duello, in 
its initial state, but protested in a blustering manner, in 
the presence of all who were there, that Mr. Hard should 
fight him. ‘ Will you name your weapons V said a wag 
from Yirginia, who was laughing in his sleeve. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


289 


John detected the roguish twinkle in the other^s eye, 
with his usual acuteness, and replied, ‘Yes, the only 
weepons I ever use ag’in a man; but I should have to send 
home for them.^ 

‘ Xame them, sir!^ cried the angry Colonel, regarding 
the statement that they were at home, as an artful 
dodge. 

‘ They are my hoots^ mister,^ replied John. ‘ My boots 
are my weepons.’ At this the Colonel’s wrath knew no 
bounds, for he regarded it as an intimation that he would 
receive a kicking. 

‘ Why not, — why not,’ — ^he stammered with passion, 
and rising from his seat, ‘ why not try it now^ sir? Why 
wait to send home V 

‘ I got my best boots on now,’ replied John, quite coolly, 
‘ and I’m kind o’ savin’ on ’em.’ 

This speech only made the matter worse, for all tittered, 
and it appeared as if Mr. Hard thought his best boots too 
good to kick the Colonel with ; but nothing was further 
from his. meaning. Foaming over with rage, the Colonel 
drew a pistol and would have a’dvanced in order to shoot 
him, had not the Virginian, with friendly remonstrance, 
and gentle violence, detained him. All were now on their 
feet again, and crowding around the parties. 

The Colonel swore terribly that he would cut out his 

Yankee heart for him, unless he would meet him like 

a man. 

‘ You must fight,’ said one of those disinterested gen- 
tlemen whom we see in Congress, on such occasions, vastly 
more tender of other people’s honor than their own, and 
ready to cry ‘ ’5/ hoy P at every chance of a quarrel,— 
13 


290 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

‘ Mr. Hard, I don’t see how, as a man of honor, you can 
avoid it. I shall be very happy to stand your friend.’ 

‘ I don’t want any man for a friend that advises me to 
fight,’ replied John. 

‘’Pon my life,’ said another, in the same confidential way, 
* I don’t see how you can avoid it ! How can you ?’ 

‘ Just as easy as winkin’,’ replied John — ' By not 
fightin’.’ 

‘ A duel is inevitable, Mr. Hard,’ said the first speaker, 
eager for bloodshed; ‘ Colonel Waite is determined on a 
duel.’ 

‘ He’ll have to wait some time ’fore he makes a duelhst 
o’ John Hard. I ain’t sitch a plaguy fool as to stan’-up 
and let a man make holes through me ; and I guess I ain’t 
sitch a cold-blooded heathen as to dehberately take aim 
at a human critter, as if he was only a squarrel or a mush- 
squash, instead of God’s image, with a soul to be saved.’ 

‘ Pshaw I’ cried the Colonel, who from the midst of a 
circle of friends had overheard his remark, ‘ you are a 
coward I’ 

‘ Coward !’ echoed the would-be friend. ‘ He called you 
a coward, Mr. Hard.’ 

‘Well, 1 am coward,’ replied John, with a smile ; ‘I 
never set up for a brave man, and I a coward : at least 
I am too much of a coward either to attempt to take his 
life, or to let him take mine. I ain’t prepared to die, and 
I don’t believe he is ; and more’n that, I didn’t come 
here to be shot ; and I ain’t got time to shoot him, 
nuther.’ 

This provoked a laugh, and the feelings of the crowd 
were clearly on our friend’s side. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 291 

* I’d jest like to know,’ continued Jolin, wko was inclined 
to argue the matter, ‘ What sense there is in any duel. 
I’ve read somewhere, that the custom began in the old 
feudal times. Them was the dark ages. They called it 
the age o’ chivalry ; and many o’ you Southern folks, they 
tell me, are dreadfully attached to some o’ the old feudal 
notions. This duelling business was one on ’em. God, 
they said, watched the combat, and fought invisibly for 
him who had right on his side. But d’ye s’pose right was 
on the side of that pesky sarpint, Aaron Burr, when, he 
killed Alexander Hamilton in a duel, and put a whole 
nation into mournin’? Not by a long shot I’ 

‘ That’s a fact I’ cried one of the auditors. 

* So it is!’ said another. 

‘ Fire away, Mr. Hard,’ said a third. 

‘ Hear him ; hear him!’ exclaimed several others. 

‘ Any mean miserable blackleg,’ said John, ‘ may become 
a good shot, though a bad man. Them lynx-eyed rascals 
see a target well, and the worse they air the less likely 
they air to mind ’cause it’s a man and not a bird or a 
bear. The man that has the best feelin’s towards his fel- 
ler bein’s, is certain never to practise with the shootin’ 
irons for the purpose o’ takin’ human life ; an’ ye don’t 
s’pose that God’s goin’ suddenly to steady his nerves and 
help him take sure aim, if in a moment of folly he’s drawn 
or urged into a duel, do ye ? No, the best man of the 
two will have the most compunctions and the most onsteady 
aim, and perhaps fire intentionally into the air ; while the 
worst one will do his pootiest to make a hole through 
him. Ain’t it so, gentlemen ?’ 

‘ It is — it is so !’ responded several persons ; and some 
applauded with their hands. 


292 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

* A poor excuse is better than a none!’ said the Colonel, 
with another sneer, but less positively than before ; for 

he felt the force of ‘ the Yankee’s logic,’ though he 

would not own it. ‘ What did you mean by the insult 
you offered the Southern horse V 

‘ I don’t know one boss from the other,’ replied John, 
‘ Yever heerd tell of ’em till this mornin’, and don’t remem- 
ber even their names. That old blacky, yonder, kept me 
waitin’ for my steak till I was so hungry I could eeny 
most swaller a jackass and a pannier o’ greens ; and when 
he sent it in, all burnt up, and the feller asked my opinion 
of the Southern horse, I was as mad as a hornet, and 
blarted out somethin’, I didn’t care what. And when you 
said, ^ Make him take it hack,^ I thought you felt indignant 
too, and wanted me to send him back with it.’ 

Here the remembrance of the contretemjps and equivoque 
elicited another round of laughter, and the wag from Yir- 
ginia (to use our informant’s own language) roared ready 
to split himself. Our agricultural friend, too, who could 
lai^h as lustily as he could kick, joined' in with a peal 
that made the welkin ring a^ih. The colored waiters 
had to join in, out of pure sympathy with the sound, and 
the applause was general. 

‘ I’m very sorry, gentlemen,’ said John, when he had 
had his laugh, ‘ If I said anything to offend anybody. I 
didn’t intend to dew it.’ 

‘That’s satisfactory,’ said the Yirginian. ‘ I’ll venture 
to say for every Southern man here, that your explana- 
tion is entirely satisfactory. Eh, Colonel ?’ 

‘ I suppose so,’ replied that gentleman a little sulkily, 
for he remembered the boots. 

‘ If I ripped out anything that sounded personal to the 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 293 

Colonel, I hadn’t oughter, and didn’t mean to said Mr. 
Hard ; ‘ and I think he must have kind o’ twisted my 
remarks, or else I blundered ; which it is just as likely as 
not I did,’ 

‘ I accept your apology, sir,’ said the Colonel, haughtily 
exteuding his hand. 

‘ It is not an apology. Colonel,’ interposed the Yirginian, 
well versed in the punctilio of the code of honor ; ‘it is an 
ex'planation. There is a difference.’ 

‘ But all differences are done with now,’ said John 
Hard ; ‘ and the hash is settled, call it by what names 
ye will ;’ and he shook the Colonel heartily by the 
hand. 

‘ Now let us all go to the bar, and have a drink I’ cried 
the Virginian ; and, extending his arms, he scooped into 
them as many of the company as he could, John Hard 
and Colonel Waite included. 

‘ Excuse me,’ said John. 

The Colonel’s brow lowered, and he insisted that he 
should accompany them to the bar. 

‘ No,’ replied John, firmly, ‘ I never drink. Besides, 
here comes my breakfast, and I’m as hungry as a bear! 
But see here. Colonel, if you want to try which of us can 
knock over a cent the most times out of ten, with rifle 
balls, at thirty rods. I’ll try my hand with ye, though I’m 
not a circumstance to some, of our sharpshooters.’ 

‘Done!’ said the Colonel. ‘Good!’ cried the Yirginian; 

‘ I’ve done a right smart chance of that sport myself in 
my time, and I allow that, when any sharp shooting’s to 
be done, I’m thar? 

‘Wall, I wouldn’: mind a pull at it nyther,’ chimed in 


294 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


a brawny Kentuckian, ‘ I’ve had a heap o’ fun at it down 
in old Kaintuck, and reckon I kin do it agin.’ 

‘ Of course you are going to see Bascomb distance 
Postboy, to-day, Mr. Hard ?’ said the Virginian, with a 
smile. ‘ You’ll want to see how our Southern horses can 
take the wind out of anything you can raise in the Big 
Nozrud.^ 

,‘I’ve got a colt at home’ — ^began John, but was cut 
short in his intended brag, by the same good-natured Yir- 
ginian. 

‘Never mind your colt, now, my friend. We three have 
chartered a barouche to take us to the course, and you 
are welcome to a seat in it. Nay, I won’t take no for an 
answer. We will take a rifle along, and we shall have 
ample room thar, and time to test your skill at shooting 
pennies.’ 

‘ Agreed 1’ said John, and they left him to make a 
breakfast. 


CHAPTER XXXY. 

The Great Run — Bascomb and Postboy — Humors of a Race-course 

On the day that John Hard called at the residence of 
Mr. Godwin to square the milk account, Edwin Fairbanks, 
(the reader may, perhaps, remember) called him into his 
room to converse with him. John had announced the 
important fact^. it will be recollected, that he was twenty- 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 295 

one, and was about to sally into the world to seek his 
fortune. His active and gallant conduct in chasing the 
villain who had attempted the assassination of Fairbanks 
in the auction-room, had excited the gratitude of Edwin, 
and he desired to do him a service in return. It had 
occurred to him that as John Hard could identify Tom 
Braxton, and was going to New York (some of whose 
many haunts of vice, he believed, harbored the ruffian), it 
would be well to commission him to hunt him up, in the 
hope that simple and unsophisticated as he was, there 
was, nevertheless, a possibility of his success. Accord- 
ingly he had broached the idea to John, and found him 
cheerful and ready to do what he could to secure the 
arrest of the fugitive. It was arranged confidentially, 
between them, that, without interfering at all with his 
command of his own time and movements, Mr. Hard should 
remain in New York, or further south, six or eight weeks, 
if it should appear desirable for this object, and he was to 
visit all places of public resort, high and low. 

The moment, therefore, that the invitation was given to 
him by the Yirginian planter to attend the great race, it 
flashed into John Hard’s active brain that the course 
would be just the place to meet with the object of his 
« pursuit ; and hence his prompt acceptance of a proposal, 
which but for this inducement, his good old New England 
training would have led him as promptly to decline ; for 
he well knew that such places are, in the main, the resorts 
only of the idle and profligate. 

The barouche held four, viz : the Yirginian, the Ken- 
tuckian, the Colonel from Buncombe, and our John, and a 
pleasant quartette they were, on their way down to the 


296 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OB 

course, a distance of eleven miles, almost every rod of 
which was covered by a vehicle of some sort, full of people, 
on their way to the races. Everything that would go on 
wheels had been put in requisition for this occasion, and 
many of the turn-outs were of the most remarkable and 
impromptu description. Even some gay bucks of the city, 
finding all the decent horses and carriages pre-engaged, 
condescended — yes, were glad — to get seats in common 
market carts, and lumber wagons, with rough pine seats ; 
and piled in four abreast, and in rows at that. Joking, 
laughing, singing and shouting, every inch of the way was 
vocal vuth their noise. 

John and the Southern gentlemen arrived just in time to 
take a view of the course and the twenty thousand spec- 
tators, before the horses were brought out.of the tempo- 
rary stable where their grooms were preparing them for 
the contest, under the vigilant eyes of the owners. 

The course — a mile round — appeared to be nearly cir- 
cular. The track — wide enough for two carriages abreast 
— ^was rather heavy. On the inner side of the course, at 
the starting place, was the judges’ stand, a small elevated, 
covered platform; neatly painted white and green. 

Opposite the judges, on the other side of the track, was 
a spacious platform, on which were tiers of seats, rising 
one above another as in an amphitheatre, and crowded 
with gayly-dressed ladies and gentlemen, all in a high state 
of ^lee and excitement. A roof averted the rays of the 
Bun, but it was not a warm day — the wind blowing from 
the north-east. And now Postboy and Bascomb are led 
forth, and walk proudly up and down a portion of the 
course. Only members of the club, and several hundred 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 29t 

privileged persons, on foot or in carriages, were admitted 
within the gates, and John’s company were among these. 
But what a variety of people met his eye on every hand, 
as he scrutinized the faces ! Old and young, white, black, 
yellow, brown, blue, green and gray. Here he saw the 
flush planter, with his broad-brimmed white felt hat, and 
white ribbon or crape on it, his hand full of bank-notes — 
an advance upon his growing crop — criticising, with the 
practised eye of a connoisseur, the build and movement of 
the Northern horse, and calculating the chances against 
the honor of the South. He is an enthusiast in horse- 
flesh. Now he is joined by an impartial admirer of both 
beasts, and they converse earnestly together. The colo- 
nel will not bet, but he beckons to a friend. An introduc- 
tion ensues, and a wager follows. The planter bets a 
thousand upon Bascomb ; the New York merchant takes 
it, for heretofore the bets have been two to one on Post- 
boy. Each places in the Colonel’s hands the amount of 
the wager, and the notes are deposited in his pocket-book. 
The same kind of operation is occurring in a hundred little 
groups around. The ladies in the gallery are vivaciously 
taking sides with one horse or the other, and some of their 
husbands’ purses will sweat for it. ‘ Of little use are these 
kind o’ women, I calculate,’ thought John Hard, as he 
glanced up to the brilliant rows, ‘splendiferous and pretty 
as wax dolls to look at ; but a good, honest-hearted, sun- 
burnt country-gal, that can make butter and cheese, and 
darn a feller’s stockin’s, is worth the whole bilin’ of ye!’ 

Still another class of females, not admitted to the plat- 
form, but even more showily dressed than the others, and 
seated in barouches and carriages, admitted to the vacant 
13* 


298 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OK 

space within the inner circle of the course, were betting 
with each other, or calling shamelessly to the men to bet 
with them. Here, too, were extravagant clerks, prodigal 
of money not their own, and shop-boys aping them in their 
dissipated habits ; and mechanics spending in one day 
more than they could earn in a month ; and loafers of 
every color ; all betting, either upon Postboy or Bascomb. 
Even little Scratch Gravel was there, a-straddle of the top 
of a high gate-post, from which he saluted Mr. Hard with 
a wild yell and cheer, whirling his vizorless cap around his 
head like mad, as the barouche passed in. This graceless 
urchin, too (John was shortly afterwards confidentially 
informed by him) had bet all his coppers upon Postboy, 
with a colored imp who was located upon the other post. 

‘ I’m done broke if Bascomb should win,’ said Scratch : 

‘ does yous think I’d better hedge V 

^ Hedging,^ the uninitiated mustrunderstand, is to make 
a counter wager upon the other horse ; so that go which 
way it will the gambler (for any kind of chance-game is gamb- 
ling) must win on one of his bets. 

‘H’yal’ chuckled the little darkey, as a well-knit and 
beautiful light bay horse, attended by a groom, and 
accompanied by several gentlemen who were critically 
eyeing every inch of the noble creature, approached nearly 
to the gate, ‘Bar’s Bascom’I jus’ look at him ! Look at 
dem wethers I Bey’s full o’ four mile heats ! Yah 1 I 
doubles de bet. Say, Scratch — I say. Scratch, wha’ wha’ 
wha’ for ye don’t take me up ? Heah, yah, yah (and he 
laughed merrily) I Bare ye double de bet ?’ 

Young Gravel, greatly moved by this banter, tried to 
effect the loan of a quarter from Mr, Hard ; and, failing 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 299 

in this negotiation, offered to bet his new jacket against 
the colored boy’s ' trouses’ (which, with half a shirt, com- 
posed young Hannibal’s entire suit) that Bascomb wouldn’t 
win. 

* Done !’ responded little ebony. An impish smile flitted 
around Scratch Gravel’s thin lips, as he quickly divested 
himself of his jacket, and tossed it to ‘Pat Ryan,’ a 
young man from whom he was accustomed to obtain his 
daily supply of morning papers. Ryan enjoyed the con- 
fidence of the newsboys, and acted on this occasion as 
stake-holder for a dozen or more. He was a witness of 
the last wager, and he received the jacket with a great 
laugh. 

‘ Pat Ryan holds the stakes,’ cried Scratch : ‘ he’s got 
mine ; now guv him your’n.’ 

Unconscious of any impropriety (for his education had 
been neglected), the little colored innocent, full of glee, 
and to the infinite enjoyment of a crowd of grinning spec- 
tators, chiefly of the lower classes, cast off his only sus- 
pender, and in a trice kicked away from his dusky limbs 
into the open anus of the expectant Pat, a paii* of piebald 
pantaloons, which, notwithstanding the east wind, he felt 
that he could dispense with ; at least until the race was 
over, when he should return to his gratified parents in 
Murderer’s Alley, with * an entire suit, and obtain full 
absolution for running away to the races, instead of accom- 
panying his father to climb a flue and sweep a chimney 
for Mr. Astor. 

As the post 'was peaked, his position upon it would not 
have appeared to be an easy one, after the change, had 
he not asserted that it was a heap nicer than before, and 


300 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OB 

expressed an ardent wish that it was the fashion to go 
without clothes, ‘ ^canse then he would never tear no holes 
in ’em.^ 

‘ I got more lickin’s on 'count dem ar trouses,' said he, 
in conclusion, ‘ dan all de clothes in de work am wurf: 
an’ I jus’ lib lose ’em in dat bet, a backin’ up de Souf as 
not. My fadder am ole Yirginny nigger ; heahl ya, yal’ 
And amid much laughter, he resumed his apex, singing in 
a really musical voice as he did so, a stave of the song, 

‘I bet my money on de bob-tailed nag,’ &c. 

In the midst of the countless multitude that throng the 
course, iniquity ranges almost barefaced. In the out- 
skirts the bar-rooms are in full blast, and gambling of 
various kinds are in active operation. The sharpers are 
pigeoning the greenhorns with the cup-game. 

‘ ’Ere yer see, gen’l’men, are three cups, and ’ere the 
ball. Look sharp, gen’l’men, vile ve pass him from one 
to t’other. Under vich is the ball now ? You are right, 
sir : ’ere he is ; ’ere is the little joker. Bet a quarter, 
sir, that you can’t say right, next time I Walk up, 
gen’l’men I walk up! Lay down a quarter and ‘take up a 
half. Make your fortune, now, and retire to a farm of 
your own in the West I Under that cup ? Let’s see I 
No he isn’t, sir : ’ere is the little joker hunder ’ere. Try 
it agin, sir! Better luck next time, perhaps.’ 

Yonder are three pickpockets, -slyly feeling of the 
pockets in the crowd, and ready for business when general 
attention shall become absorbed in the race. Here are 
some clerks '‘matching cents” for the transfer of dollars. 
Where did the money come from ? Criminal suits for 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. SOI 

abstracting goods, or for forging checks, in a few weeks, 
will answer the query. There, a roue is smirking with a 
chambermaid whom he knew in his boyhood, in his native 
village as the pretty daughter of a poor farmer. The 
intemperate and improvident habits of her father, in an 
evil hour, have driven her to work in the city. Beware 
of that man, young woman! He is no longer the unso- 
phisticated boy that he was : he is a mature villain. Yes, 
in spite of his smooth, flattering tongue, and flne clothes, 
D’Orsay will ruin you, if he can. Why are you in his 
company ? See him no more, or you will soon be the 
companion of those painted and tawdrily-dressed girls in 
the barouches yonder, whose costly silks and laces only 
serve to advertise their shame, and make an honest woman 
the more in love with modest apparel. Among those 
whited sepulchres — Ellen Jewetts all — disgracing the 
course with their gay trappings and splendid equipages, 
and drivers in livery, is one that not many months ago, 
conscience-stricken at the death of a doting husband 
whom she had deserted, threw herself from the Boston 
Mill-dam. She was rescued in a half-drowned condition, 
and, for a few weeks, appeared resolved to lead a life as 
inwardly pure as she was externally beautiful ; but either 
from her own downward inclinations, or other temptations 
hard to be resisted by ‘ a cast-away,^ she has again fallen! 
A year or two of this glitter and excitement, and another 
year or two more of' neglect, disease, and prison life, and 
that fair form will be mouldering in the Potters^ Field. 
This is the brief epitome of the lives of most of this class. 

Suddenly the attention of all became fixed upon the 
itarting point, where the horses, ‘John BascomV for the 


302 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

South, and ‘ Postboy’ for the North, both light bays, 
appeared side by side, with their respective riders, Willis 
and Gilpatrick, small-sized, emaciated persons, of 114 
pounds each, dressed in fancy-colored caps, and close-fit- 
ting jackets, breeches and top-boots, with spurs. They 
were to run four mile heats, at $5,000 a side. 

Willis had the inside of the track, and he sat “ the 
Alabama phenomenon” with confidence and discretion. 
Gilpatrick’s low diet (he had to keep himself starved 
down to the requisite small weight, in order to retain his 
business as a rider) was evident in his lack of cheerfulness, 
but he was an older man than the other, and evinced the 
most practised horsemanship in his management of the 
noble animal which he bestrode. 

The bugle sounded from the judges’ stand, and the 
horses started. Whoop! went the crowd. Bascomb wa« 
ahead on the last quarter of the first mile, and it is 
achieved in two minutes and two seconds from the start, 
and on they rush past the judges’ stand, amid loud cheer- 
ing and waving of handkerchiefs. Again they circle the 
course, despite the wind and mud, and pass the gallery 
like lightning. 

‘ Second mile, in one minute and fifty-six seconds, and 
the South ahead. Huzza!’ cried the Yirginian, watch in 
hand. 

‘ Two to one. Major Hard, on Bascomb 1’ 

‘ No you don’t,’ said John, thus be-titled. ^ I won’t bet 
till it’s all over. Why in natur’ did Postboy let Bascomb 
have the inside o’ the track ? It’s the best goin’, and the 
shortest cut, Jerooshy, how he cuts around the corners! 
Hello, on that long sweep Postboy collars him! Whooray !’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


303 


‘ Bascomb’s ahead, though, half a neck,’ cried the Ken- 
tuckian ; ‘ and *if Postboy don’t make one o’ the brushes 
that he’s famous for, he’ll soon be nowharl’ 

‘ Here they come ! Bascomb ahead. Now they pass the 
stand. Third mile 1.54 ; the best yeti’ said the Yir- 
ginian. ‘ Three to one on Bascomb, Major Hard!’ 

The shouting was deafening as the horses passed for 
the fourth mile, which they ran in 1.5t — Bascomb ahead. 

‘ Four mile in seven minutes and forty-nine seconds will 
take down my colt, and he’s a snorter!’ exclaimed John 
Hard,. 

The animals were led back by their riders to the 1:em- 
porary stable, and while they were being put in order for 
the second heat, an intermission of thirty-five minutes was 
allowed. Immediately, the course was covered with 
groups of excited people — many of them with very long 
faces — comparing time and memoranda of the running. 
The Southerners, of whom there were several hundred 
present, were in the best possible spirits. The real lovers 
of ‘ the turf’ seemed interested only in the horses, and did 
not enter into the profligacy which was rife outside of 
the course. 

In the interval between the heats, the Yirginian and 
his party, including Major Hard, as they dubbed him, 
repaired to a level ground beyond the course, where John 
astonished them, though they were all excellent marks- 
men, with the accuracy of his rifle shooting — knocking 
over the penny every time, at an almost incredible dis- 
tance, which the best shot among them (and that was the 
Kentuckian) failed to do, three times out of ten. 

* Why, Major Hard,’ exclaimed the Yirginian, full of 


304 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

generous admiration, ‘ your eye is as keen as the Ameri- 
can eagle’s/ ♦ 

‘ Do tell !’ replied John. ‘ I’m glad ye think so, for 
that’s the bird of liberty. Don’t ye think. Colonel W aite, 
that this ’ere’s much pootier sport than makin’ holes 
through each other ?’ 

It’s more ceTi^sible, at any rate,’ said the Yirginian 
wag, making a pun, which nobody ‘ took.’ ‘But let us go 
back to the course.’ 


CHAPTER XXXYI. 

The Thieves in Disguise — The Second Heat — Bascomb the Victor-^ 
The Bow, and the Prize Fight. 

John Hard took this opportunity to disengage himself 
again from his companions, as he had done before for a 
short time, that he might have an opportunity to look 
everywhere among the multitude, for Braxton. 

About this time, it was announced from the judges’ 
stand, that the owner of the late celebrated American 
racer. Eclipse, would present the saddle, bridle, and other 
appointments worn by that once famous steed, to the horse 
that should win the next heat. 

Meanwhile, they had been priming both Postboy and 
Bascomb with strong drink — ‘ A most o^matural custom,’ 
John Hard declared. ‘ It was bad enough, he thought, 
for men to make beasts of ^Aewselves, without forcing the 
pesky pizen down a poor dumb critter’s throat. He 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


805 


declared furthermore, that Postboy was almost as drunk 
a brute on four legs as he had ever seen stagger on two — 
the more shame to them that made him so,’ And the 
moment that he discovered this, his interest in the contest 
ceased, and he turned his attention to the object which 
had led him to visit the course. 

When John had turned away among the crowd outside, 
the bugle sounded, and the two horses dashed away like 
mountain deer, to the great dehght of the brawny Ken- 
tuckian, whose voice wms heard above all the rest cheer- 
ing them on. At the great sweep on the further side of 
the course, Gilpatrick made a desperate effort to brush 
by Willis, and they came down at a slashing rate, running 
a dead lock, by the judges’ stand, and then, what a shout 
went up I But it was soon obvious that Bascomb was in 
the best order of the two, and the knowing ones said that 
Postboy was ‘groggy.’ Bascomb came in ahead on the 
last mile, and was, by acclamation long and loud, declared 
the victor. 

‘ Not quite as good time as the first heat,’ said the Yir- 
ginian, putting up his chronometer, ‘but four miles in 
seven minutes and fifty-one and a half seconds will do, I 
reckon.’ 

‘ I allow it will,’ said the Kentuckian. ‘ Oh, it’s no use 
o’ these Northern men trying to contend against the com- 
mon whelp, Colonel Waite I We’ll beat ’em, both in 
humans and in horses, too. Now, let’s go and drink I 
This dodrotted East wind has sawed me right in ha’vesi 
Whar’s that Yankee ?’ 

‘ True,’ said the Yirginian, ‘ whar’s Major John Hard? 
That man ought to ha’ been raised in Yirginny.’ 


306 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

‘ Or in ole Kaintuck/ said the other. ‘ He’s got a right 
smart chance of hard horse sense, an’ I take to him just 
nayterly.’ 

‘ I cotton to him myself some,’ said the Colonel ; ‘ but 
he wouldn’t drink if he was along.’ • 

So the trio went away together to the saloon, where 
they found a prodigious crowd of people jammed in 
together, some drinking, smoking, and talking excitedly, 
and others pushing their way to the bar, or standing there 
to be waited upon by half a dozen tenders who, with their 
shirt sleeves rolled up, and the sweat running dowm their 
faces, were as busy as possible turning out the various 
liquors, and mixing grog. 

When the three friends had at length obtained their 
turn, and drank the superfluous stuff which they had 
called for, the Kentuckian proceeded to pay for it, but 
greatly to his astonishment, discovered that his pocket- 
book had been abstracted since he left the course. Nor 
were the Yirginian, and the Colonel from North Carolina, 
less amazed upon feeling for their own wallets, to find that 
the same shabby trick had been served upon them, too. 

^ Look out, gentlemen, for your pocket-books ; there 
are pickpockets in the room I’ 

But in such crowded resorts, it is almost impossible to 
identify a thief, unless caught in the act, and no arrest 
was made. 

‘ W e had better have staid out o’ this hole,’ said the 
Yirginian. ‘ However, I don’t carry all my eggs in one 
basket, fortunately, and I’ve a wad left yet ; and he pro- 
duced from his vest pocket a parcel of notes which he 
had won from a stranger upon the race. Handing one 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 30t 

of these to the tender, he was told . they would prefer 
another bill. Another note was passed over the bar, and 
handed back with the information that, like the other, it 
was counterfeit. An officer stepping forward, at that 
moment, took the roll of notes unceremoniously, and 
examining them a moment, declared that these three men 
who had pretended to have had their pockets picked 
belonged to a notorious gang of counterfeiters. He had 
no sooner said it, than the Kentuckian knocked him down. 
Instantly, there was a general rush at the three friends, 
and a disgraceful mMee ensued, but being resolute men, 
and armed, they kept the crowd at bay, until ploughing 
his way through the besiegers, a tall man, an officer of 
the club, and a popular favorite among the lovers of fine 
horses in all sections of the country, stood between them 
and their opponents. 

‘ Stand back, boys,^ said he, a little riled, ‘ these are 
good men and true, of the best Virginia and Kentucky 
stock. I know them well. How are you, gentlemen V 
And he shook hands with them. * What is the trouble 
here V 

The Virginian explained the circumstances, and stated 
the counterfeit money was the amount of a bet which he 
had made with a stranger who had taken him up on his 
offer to wager two to one on Bascomb, and Colonel Waite 
had held the stakes. 

The tall mediator laughed, and said they were not the 
only ones who had been swindled in the same manner by 
a parcel of genteel knaves who had evidently brought to 
the ground a large stock of new counterfeit money, and 
it was in this bad paper that a considerable portion' of 


308 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


the wagers won were found to be paid I He regretted 
the mistake which had been so rashly made by the con- 
stable, and he saw no better way for that functionary to 
atone for his rudeness, than, first, to make an apology to 
the gentlemen themselves, and next to treat the whole 
company. 

This decision was approved -rim wee, mmine contradi- 
dente, and the unfortunate officer was fain to comply, with 
a poor grace, though, and only on condition that the bar- 
tenders should share the expense. 

This practical joke put the Southerners in good spirits 
again, notwithstanding their heavy losses, and they retired 
with th^tall New Yorker, enjoying hugely his sang froid 
and racy humor. 

John Hard had seen them come into the drinking saloon, 
which he himself had entered, knowing that such places 
were most likely to attract men of the Braxton stamp, 
but as he was not perceived by them, he thought it best 
(his search there being over) to shun both their importu- 
nities and their banter, by quietly passing out. As he 
did so, with his eyes on them, rather on the way which he 
was going, he bolted against a man who, accompanied by 
another, was just coming into the door. ‘JerooshyT 
ejaculated John, rubbing his rather prominent nose, which 
bad received the force of the contact, ‘ I beg pardon, but 
I believe my bowsprit got the worst on’t.’ He passed 
on, caressing his proboscis ; and too full of this to vouch- 
safe the stranger scarcely a glance, though the eyes of the 
latter followed him until he disappeared. 

‘ Can it be that is that Yankee, that overhauled 

me in the Black Sea? ‘ Jerooshy ’ — ^that was the word I I 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


309 


shall never forget it ; but it is clear that he didn’t recog- 
nise me in this light wig and whiskers.’ Such was the 
thought which made the stranger linger a moment on the 
sill. 

‘Come, Tom,’ said his companion, a short, thick-set, 
coarse-looking man, clad like the other, in the garb of a 
well-to-do farmer. ‘ Keep your eye peeled. There is the 
chap we put our mill paper on to. Keep over in the far 
corner. There’s Chaffer Bill and his pal, a pickin’ the 
cinders out o’ the planter’s pockets. We’ll get our brandy 
over here ;’ and he conducted Braxton to a more retired 
corner, where, turning out the liquor, four fingers deep, 
they tossed it off without a drop of water, and made their 
exit at a back door, before the row commenced. 

Some minor races by other horses had succeeded the 
great race, and D’Orsay, ‘ always lucky’ (he chuckled to 
himself, as he counted over a large fold of bank-notes which 
a stake-holder had just put into his fist), had remained to 
bet upon them, also. Glancing up from his occupation, 
he caught the eye of a man whom he thought he had seen 
somewhere under evil circumstances, gleaming upon him. 
It was Tom Braxton, but in his disguise, he did not 
identify him. Not liking his looks, D’Orsay crammed 
the bank-notes quickly into his pocket, and walked 
away. 

‘ I’ll have some o’ that pile before I’m many hours older, 
if I have to hang for it !’ muttered Tom, with a revenge- 
ful scowl and flashing eye, at the retreating form of the 
dapper little coxcomb, as he passed down the course. 

‘ Don’t stop here,’ said his companion — the short burly 
man — ‘ they’re having a mill down there across lots.’ 


310 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

‘Who are they ? I never heard of it,. Jack,’ said Tom, 
following him. 

‘ They kept it dark, until they got the ring ready just 
now. It’s “ Buffalo Joe” agin “ Deaf Burke only $200 
a side — -just for sf)ort, to wind up handsomely.’ 

After a few minutes’ walk in silence (for Tom was moody) 
they arrived at the scene of the brutal exhibition, where 
several hundred spectators were witnessing the contest 
between two pugilists, who, stripped to their breeches, 
were fighting desperately. The man whom they called 
Deaf Burke, was a pock-marked man, short, but broad in 
the chest as a bull, and as strong. His antagonist was 
taller, but not so heavy, and his blows, in which he was 
more plentiful than the other, made about as much impres- 
sion upon Burke, apparently, as they would have done 
upon a rock. When the spry man had become a little 
weary and unguarded, the short one gave him a blow that 
would have felled an ox — breaking two of his ribs, and 
winding him, so that it was ‘ doubtful if he would come 
too in time.’ 

‘ Give him more rum there, you bottle-holder I’ cried 
Tom Braxton ; ‘ don’t be afraid of your liquor. Fetch 
him to and set him on his pins again, for the honor of 
America. He can lick that buU-headed Englishman yet. 
Wake up, Buffalo. What in yer gone to sleep for?’ 

‘What round was this?’ inquired Jack, of Burke’s 
bottle-holder. 

‘The twenty-first,’ was the gruff reply. Deaf Burke 
himself remarked with a grim smile, rendered more fero- 
cious by a mouth red with his own blood. ‘ Don’t disturb 
the jontleman. He’d be afther taking his long nap I’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 311 

* He’s as dead as a door nail/ said another. 

At this remark, a boy in the crowd —a rough-looking 
little chap, too — began to cry and lament bitterly. 

‘ What’s the matter my lad?’ inquired John Hard, who 
at that moment arrived on the spot. ‘ What on airth ye 
roarin’ so for ?’ 

‘ He’s killed my father !’ said the boy, between his sobs. 
‘ He’s fought foul and killed my father !’ 

‘Jerooshyl’ exclaimed John, ‘I’ll look into it;’ and 
pushed his way through the crowd. Tom Braxton heard 
his voice and deemed it prudent to walk off. 

‘ There’s work to be done,’ he muttered to himself, ‘ and 
I can’t afford to be stopped now. Let him stay in New 
York long enough and I’ll deprive him of the power of 
doing harm. H’Orsay’s at the bottom of this !’ and fierce- 
ly execrating the tailor, he sauntered from the ground ; 
leaving his pal to follow at his leisure. 

‘ Sonny, quit your bawling,’ said a spectator ; ‘ don’t 
you see he’s getting up, as fresh as a lark for another 
round.’ 

The friends of the noble art of self-defence and science 
against strength’ (as the pugilists’ advertisements inflat- 
edly style this low and brutal business), had indeed got 
‘ Buffalo Joe’ upon his feet, and with slow uncertain gait, 
he walked apace or two ; but he still looked as if the hand 
of death was upon him. 

‘He’ll do ; he’ll do cried his backers, cheerfully ; ‘yer 
good for another round, ain’t yer Joe?’ 

‘ Yes,’ he murmured almost inaudibly. 

‘ For the honor of America, Joe,’ said his bottle-holder 
steadying him in an erect position, and patting him on the 
back. 


312 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


‘ For the honor of America,’ repeated the poor fellow, 
but with a wandering absent look. ‘ Ain’t that my‘ boy’s 
voice ? How came he here ?’* 

‘No, it’s somebody else. Never mind. Don’t stop to 
talk. Another round ’ll put ye in tiptop order,’ said the 
backer. ‘ Now, at him again I’ 

‘That cock won’t fight,’ said Bm’ke, contemptuously. 
‘ He shall fight,’ said the bottle-holder resolutely. 

‘ No he shan’t nuther!’ exclaimed John Hard, and 
- thrusting his long legs over the rope of the ring, he was 
just in time to catch ‘ Buffalo Joe’ from falling. He had 
again swooned, and again the remark was made that he 
was dead, and again arose the piteous wail of the poor 
boy. 

‘Shame on ye all!’ cried John, with indignation and 
contempt, ‘ to set agin each other, like dogs or wild beasts, 
two men made in God’s own image. Ye’ve killed him 
among ye, and are all answerable for it! Yes,’ he repeat- 
ed, notwithstanding all their abuse and threatening looks, 
‘ every individual here is liable for murder, and I advise 
ye all to clear the coop, and be off with yerselves. Is that 
air the Sheriff of the County, cornin’ yender ?’ 

This was enough, and all concerned in the priz^-fight 
walked rather hurriedly away. The spectators were not 
long in following. John now left alone, with no one to 
help him except the poor child, looked around for assist- 
ance. The corpulent gentleman whom the pugilists, at 
John’s hint, had feared was the Sheriff, proved to be 
Colonel Waite, in quest of our friend, as their party were 
ready to return. Of course the Colonel was very much 
amazed to meet with the Yankee in such circumstances, 
but after a brief explanation, he hurried away again to 



JOHN HARD, IN PIIESUIT OF THE MURDERER, EFFECTS 

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THE THREE APPRENTICES. 313 

bring their vehicle to the spot, in order to remove the 
dying man to the saloon. 

Before he returned with the carriage, Buffalo Joe reviv- 
ed somewhat, and when delivered over to the care of a 
physician, at the inn, the professional gentleman expressed 
confident hopes of his ultimate recovery. Agreeably dis- 
appointed when this intelligence reached their ears, Buffalo 
Joe’s backers ventured to show their heads, and resume 
the charge of him. 

In the meantime, the three friends from the South, and 
their Massachusetts protege, stepped into the barouche 
and drove towards the city. 

‘ Talk as much as you will against our Southern custom 
of duelling, Major Hard,’ said the Yirginian, tapping the 
ashes from his cigar, ‘ I allow it’s a right smart better than 
these beastly prize-fights in the Big Norrud.’ 

* Six o’ one and half a dozen o’ t’other,’ replied John. 
I’d jest like to yoke ’em together, and have the drivin’ of 
’em both to the etarnal jumping-off place!’ 


CHAPTER XXXYII. 

John Hard and his Southern friends visit the Opera — John’s opinion 
of Opera Music — ^His description of one Scene — Finds Tom Braxton 
in one of the Galleries — A Striking Incident. 

When the party had reached the city, it was proposed, 
that instead of stopping at their hotel, they should con- 
tinue on as far as Windust’s, have a game supper, and then 
visit the theatre. 


U 


314 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

To our agricultural friend, with his primitive Xew Eng- 
land notions, this looked a little like dissipation^ and he 
wondered to himself ‘ what his good old dad and marm 
would say, if they could only look at their John at that 
identical moment, a-cuttin’ round in a barouche from race- 
courses to theatres!’ But it had not escaped the observa- 
tion of Mr. Hard, that many Boston men, who were esteem- 
ed quite ‘‘regular’ at home, and rather ‘ set’ than other- 
wise against wine-bibbing, card or billiard-playing, thea- 
tre-going, &c., &c.,, either found it agreeable or politic to 
relax from the strait path somewhat, when in New York, 
and turn astray, ‘just the leastest mite in the world,’ into 
the serpentine walks suggested by the drummers, who 
were boarded at the hotels by their employers, the dry- 
goods merchants, for the express purpose of initiating and 
indulging their customers in all the pleasures that their 
most sensual appetites could desire, and the town 
afford. 

Our young farmer, however, had a mission to execute, 
and one likely to take him into every place likely to be 
frequented by persons of loose lives. It had been suggest- 
ed to him that in no place would he be more likely to meet 
with Braxton than in the theatres. Tom’s early predi- 
lection for ‘ the drama,’ has been already stated. 

After a brief repast, at the famous resort of actors and 
fast men, the Southern gentlemen and the ‘ Majori (as 
they persisted in calling him) , stepped into the Park Thear 
tre, which was located in Park Row, opposite the City 
Park, and about midway be^^ween Ann and Beekman 
streets. This building, so long occupied as a play-house, 
was burnt a few years ago. A magnificent brown stone 


THE T'HREE APPRENTICES. 315 

block, occupied for stores, now improves the site where 
the theatre once stood. 

The Yirginian paid for the tickets at the little office just 
inside the portal, and they passed into the lobby. The 
Kentuckian continued to whiff his tobacco, but his atten- 
tion being called by an usher in a white vest and white 
kid gloves, to a sign requesting gentlemen not to smoke, 
he tossed his cigar out at the door, and it was immedi- 
ately appropriated and transferred to the mouth of a jacket- 
less, barefooted boy, who was waiting on the outside for 
the termination of the farce, * The Road to Ruin,’ in hopes 
that some drunken sailor or other would give him a check. 
This lad, John saw, was little Scratch, but he said nothing, 
and followed his friends and the usher to what he called 
* a pew,’ in the second tier of boxes. 

He had never been in a theatre before, and the glare 
of light and colors bewildered him so much, at first, that, 
to use his own expression, ‘ he hardly knew which eendhe 
stood on.’ As soon as his perception returned to him, 
and the rainbow colors, gilt, tinsel and gingerbread work 
of the place ceased to dazzle his eyes, he saw the pit 
densely packed with well-dressed men and boys, and above 
and surrounding ‘ the body of the house,’ as he called it, 
a tier of boxes, filled with ladies and gentlemen. 

‘ That is the dress-circle, Major,’ whispered the Yirgi- 
nian, who was the most polished and experienced person in 
the party, as he saw John’s eyes, full of wonder, surveying 
this brilliant display of beauty and extravagance. 

* Ye don’t say I’ said John. ‘They dress to kill, don’t 
they?’ 

‘Yes, to kill the men!’ replied the Yirginian, smiling. 


31G NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

^ I should think it would kill their husbands/ added Mr. 
Hard, dryly. ‘ i)o look at ’em. They’re dressed almost 
within an inch of their life.’ 

^ Their life is not in their throats, then, Major,’ rejoined 
the Virginian, significantly. 

‘ No, they don’t dress within an inch of their throats, 
that’s sartin,’ replied John. ‘ I should think they’d feel 
kind o’ shamed.’ 

‘ What they leave off of the neck, they stick on fo the 
trail,’ replied his friend. 

‘ I s’pose they’re going to a ball when they git through 
here, for they’re all dressed in white, with lots o’ flowers 
and their fellers have got white waistcoats and white 
gloves on.’ 

‘ What air they lookin’ through them spy-glasses for ? 
Air all them pooty critters near-sighted?’ 

The Virginian explained to John, that these were opera- 
glasses, and served to display the bracelets, rings and 
delicate hands of the ladies that used them. 

‘ The Road to Ruin’ (which J ohn thought a very 
appropriate name), was soon concluded, and the green 
baize curtain descended. A great rush was then made by 
the male department (the Southern gentlemen among the 
rest), for the saloon, or bar-room, in the lobbies, and Mr. 
Hard was astonished at the rapidity with which people 
could toss off the drinks — some, too, who labored under 
the disadvantage of being full already. 

Next succeeded an overture by the orchestra — some 20 
or 30 foreign-looking gentlemen, wearing moustaches and 
somewhat addicted to snuff. The performers on the 
- kettle-drum and double bass-viol, afforded Mr. Hard some 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 317 

amusement by their indefatigable exertions, especially the 
latter artist, who in drawing his bow con expressiom, and 
with innumerable short, quick vigorous strokes across the 
strings, made a thousand grimaces — his little bald head, 
at times, almost disappearing between his shoulders. John 
laughed so vociferously that he attracted the attention of 
the whole audience, and some persons in the pit, observing 
the Kentuckian’s feet protruding over the box, raised a 
cry of ‘ Boots I’ 

As this did not produce the instantaneous withdrawal 
of the obnoxious leather (the Kentuckian not having the 
remotest idea that he was giving any offence^, the cry was 
repeated, and echoed by many voices — 

* Boots ! Boots I’ mingled with hisses. 

* What on airth air they makin’ all that noise for ?’ 
inquired John of the Virginian, who had just entered the 
box. Before the latter could reply, an officer entered, and 
politely requested the Kentuckian to remove his feet. Of 
course, being a gentleman, he complied immediately, and 
some applause followed. 

A celebrated singer, imported from abroad, was to sing 
in an opera, and in a few moments the audience were all 
seated ; except those in an upper row, where gayly-dressed 
young females were standing on the seats, or walking in 
the lobby, and conversing in a rude, reckless manner with 
strangers, about the race. 

Soon the green curtain arose, and discovered a very 
fat, red-faced man, in a short green frock, and flesh-colored 
tights, or stockings, reposing on a pine-board bank, painted 
green. Several young females, with scarcely any dress, 
other than a coat of paint, then ^chassayed on,’ John 


318 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


said, and hopped round a little, twirling white sticks in 
their hands, and singin’, until another on ^em, with a crowna 
on her head, came in astraddle of a sheet-iron peacock, 
mounted on wheels, and drawn with a rope by a feller 
behind there. After saying that the fat man on the pine- 
board bank, without any pantaloons, was a prince, and 
was asleep, the whole bilin’ rigadooned round him some, 
and sung somethin^ Nen another woman was lowered 
down with ropes, in a box, which they said was a cloud. 
Nen she went up agin. Nen the gal with the crown on, 
got on the sheet-iron peacock agin, and went off — ^proba- 
bly to finish dressing Nen all went off but the fat man. 
Nen he got up with a spear in his hand, and came forward 
and sang in a dreadful melancholy way. 


All around ia silence 1” 


When, clatter-de-bang, down come the box that the gal 
had gone up in, ker^unk! with a tarnal racket; and mak- 
ing the fat singer jump a rod 

But we will not fatigue the reader with John Hardys 
unique description of the opera in detail. Suffice it to 
say, that neither he nor the Kentuckian liked opera music 
at all. 

* I can’t make head nor tail on’t,’ said the latter. * It 
ain’t a primin’ to my niggers. Major!’ 

‘ Why don’t the tarnal critter sing right straight out ?’ 
exclaimed John. ‘She’s got a mouth large enough, and 
makes faces enough.’ 

‘ This kind of singing is all the rage,’ remarked the 
Colonel from Buncombe. 

‘They may make believe they like it,’ rejoined Mr. Hard, 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 319 

‘ but their ears must be as twisted as our old ram’s horns, 
if they ralely do fancy sitch a sight o’ squealing, I’d as 
lief hear a cat on a woodshed, by moonshine.’ 

* Dodrot it, why don’t she sing right strat out, as the 
Major says,’ said the Kentuckian, ‘ and put it through ?’ 

* She would get through too quick in that case,’ replied 
the Yirginian, smiKng. 

‘ If she’d only give us one good song right out plain, 
without any of this curricoling and filigree work,’ said 
John, ‘I would give more for it than for all the 
rest.’ 

Presently, quite tired of the opera, the three planters 
adjourned to the next building, to take a game of billiards, 
their friend from Massachusetts declining to accompany 
them, but promising to call in for them, after he had taken 
a more particular view of the theatrical premises. 

They had been gone only a few minutes, when, upon 
casting his eyes to the gallery, at a sreat height above 
him, near the ceiling, in a row of faces of all colors, he 
recognized Scratch Gravel, clasping the iron railing with 
his little dirty hands, and resting his chin upon it. 

^ She won’t do!’ cried Scratch, alluding to the new 
prima donna. The words were addressed in a connoisseur 
tone to his friend Mr. Hard, in the second tier below ; 
but, however confidential the intent, the critique reached 
the ear of the singer, and so disconcerted her that it took 
no less than five bouquets, seven bravos, one bravissimo, 
a whole round of clapping, and innumerable savage looks 
at the gallery (through opera-glasses) to restore her to 
voice again. And after all, it decided her in her precon- 
ceived prejudices against the country, and confirmed her 


320 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

in her pnrpose to abuse it to her heart’s content, as soon 
as she should have left its inhospitable shores. 

In the third row, the young farmer heard a man evi- 
dently excited by potations of liquor, talking noisily with 
a painted Jezabel, and trying to pull her down into the 
seat at his side, to the apparent amusement of sundry 
country merchants, store clerks, and young mechanics, 
who had wandered into that gateway to perdition from 
other parts of the house. 

‘That’s Tom Braxton, or he never spoke !’ exclaimed 
John, half aloud, and, quickly making his exit from the 
box, he hurried to ascend the staircase. He mistook the 
way, and had to retrace his steps ; losing several minutes, 
by this means. Mounting the right stairs at length, he 
found a bar-room, half full of men — some of them only 
half-grown — talking and drinking with a score or two of 
young women with painted cheeks and showy dresses, 
which trailed upon the floor, in all the filth, at every step. 

As John entered, a good-looking, neatly-dressed young 
sailor, evidently just off a cruise, was in the act of drink- 
ing a glass of grog with a rather pretty-looking girl, 
apparently not more than sixteen years of age. ‘ Too 
bad I Too bad I’ thought the young farmer, shuddering 
at seeing one so young so far advanced in ruin. 

Suddenly, the countenance of the young sailor seemed 
familiar to her, and as he extended his glass to touch her own, 
she saw a deep scar upon his hand. Instantly, her tumbler 
fell to the floor, and seizing him by the shoulder, and look- 
ing into his face intently, she exclaimed, with emotion, 
‘Your name is James Laurens — ym are my brother 

And it proved to be even so. Eight years before, he 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


321 


had ran away from his parents and gone to sea ; since 
which he had not returned to New York until now. She 
was then the only child left them — a fair-haired, prattling 
girl. His horror and anguish at finding her a common 
nymph of the town, was indescribable. 

In the midst of the crowd which soon surrounded them 
(and of which the farmer, with the big tears rolhng down 
his eyes, made one), the sailor alternately wept, and 
cursed, and tore his hair, and threatened to kill both him- 
self and the girl ; while she stood with hands clasped, and*' 
eyes red with weeping, supplicating him not to kill her, 
and begging him not to take on so. Amid his paroxysms 
of grief and anger, her brother thanked heaven that he 
had made the discovery thus early. 

The guilty and wretched pair were then separated, 
after she had sworn solemnly that she would lead that life 
no longer, and they were accompanied by their acquain- 
tances to their several homes. 

Sick at heart, and seeing nothing of Tom Braxton, 
honest John Hard wiped his eyes, and thanking God that 
he did not live in the city, hurried away from the theatre, 
never to enter one again. 


CHAPTER XXXYIII. 

D’Orsay’s Cave at Holt’s — The Infidel Disciple and his Practices — 
Kate in the Lion’s Den — The Assault — The Invisible Defender — 
The Murder. 

Kate Mudge went to D’Orsay’s hotel at the time 
apppinted, and ascended to his rooms, without tarrying to 
14 * 




322 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

make a single inquiry. The waiters in the hall supposed 
her to be a laundress or a nurse, or a friend of some of the 
family servants in the house, and she escaped scrutiny. 
The door of the room she sought opened, as if by magic, 
before she had time to knock, and she heard the voice of 
the libertine sweetly inviting her to enter. It was a spa- 
cious and brilliantly lighted apartment, with frescoed ceil- 
ing of rose and violet hue, executed in the highest style 
of art, and walls profusely decorated with richly framed 
paintings and engravings, of a character usually denomi- 
nated ‘ classic,' and, hence, entirely congenial with the 
voluptuous tastes of the occupant. Massive and costly 
upholstery enclosed the windows, and served for a border 
around the room, in a recess at the end of which, half con- 
cealed by silken curtains of purple and white, stood a 
French bedstead of rosewood material, exquisitely 
wrought, sumptuously furnished, and canopied with silk of 
the same kind as the screen. A superb carpet, feeling 
triple thick beneath the tread, vied with the showy paint- 
ings on the walls and the glowing fresco overhead, in ela- 
borate designs and gorgeous colors. Mirrors, high and 
broad ; sofas, ottomans, divans and easy-chairs of rose- 
wood and purple velvet ; tables, toilet-stand, and bureaus 
topped with marble (then more rare than at present), a 
mantel-piece of the same material, with vases of the most 
ostentatious and expensive pattern ; a sideboard laden 
with dried fruits, and cut glass goblets, and decanters of 
wine, and cigars, ornamental trifles, statuettes in liscuit 
of shameless goddesses, busts, medallions, paper-weights, 
boxes inlaid with pearl, beautiful bottles for perfumery ; 
bijouterie innumerable — these, and similar, composed the 




THE THREE APPRENTICES. 323 

furniture of what Mr. D’Orsay styled affectedly ‘ his Cave 
at Holt’s.’ Yonder, was a book-case, indicative of some 
literary taste (though the owner had little), and, in the 
centre of the room, a round table where the moonlike 
beams of an astral lamp, paling its ineffectual fires in the 
more radiant presence of the gas jetting from the chande- 
lier, let fall its modest rays upon sundry volumes of Rous- 
seau, Yoltaire, Cousin, Carlyle, Montaigne; Emerson, and 
George Sands, which lay there conveniently, as if for fre- 
quent use. Indeed, these were D’Orsay’s text-books ; 
and the writers the men of his counsel. Tom Paine would 
have been honored with a place upon the same table with 
the rest, but that D’Orsay voted him * vulgar,’ because 
of the indecent and ‘ positively shocking manner of his de- 
cease.’ Occasionally, these books gave way, graciously, 
to the cards, and it was not a rare occurrence for a South- 
ern planter to part, upon the richly inlaid surface of that 
table, with enough cotton to make paper sufficient for a 
compendious edition of all those authors bound in one. 
Sometimes, too, a Western merchant (whose flat-boats 
were singularly fortunate upon the Mississippi, and nei 
ther snagged nor grounded), would find it impossible to 
get over D’Orsay’s beautiful mosaic without l^a^g tjjfee 
a cargo of corn — or, at least, the vouchers To 

speak more plainly, D’Orsay gambled, and was lucky. He 
never entered his superb apartment without chuckling to 
himself that its lavish decorations had been more than paid 
for by his winnings. Still his play was all suh rosa, and 
if not conscientious, it was, at least confidential. 

When Kate entered, the atmosphere of the room was 
redolent of milk Jkurs and attar of rose. No one was 




324 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

visible ; for D’Orsay (who, upon the tip-toe of fond expec- 
tation, and attired in an elegant dressing gown, succeeding 
an aromatic bath, had been awaiting her coming, and lis- 
tening to every approaching footstep), in opening the door 
' had drawn it back to screen himself a moment and observe 
the surprise and admiration which he thought the gorgeous- 
ness of his apartment could not fail to excite in her. Disap- 
pointed in this, he came out from his hiding-place with a 
playful exclamation, in order to give her a little start ; 
but she received him sedately and with calmness ; return- 
ing to his impassioned welcome, merely a cold inquiry for 
Braxton. 

‘ If he comes at all, he will be here soon,^ replied the 
libertine, somewhat piqued at the appearance of entire 
indifference to him and his domiciliary glories, with which 
Kate sat down in the richest of his chairs, and in silence 
fixed her eyes upon the door through which Tom Braxton 
would enter. 

‘ I fear, Kate^ — said he, but she interrupted him with a 
look, and correcting himself, he added, ‘ I beg your par- 
don, I presume I must address you as a married woman, 
though my heart beats warmly for the Kate I knew and 
loved. You are as beautiful as ever, but I hope not as 
disdainful V 

* When will he. come V said she, coldly, and without 
heeding the roue’s remark. 

D’Orsay uttered a profane expletive, sotto voce, but 
satisfied that it would not serve his purpose to betray his 
impatience, he endeavored to induce his guest to take a 
glass of champagne wine (which, however, she refused), 
and next to interest her in the furniture and pictures. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 325 

about which he could talk volubly for hours together. He 
passed from picture to picture and from one work of art to 
another/ explaining the subject and descanting upon the 
merits of each, in hopes of drawing her to his side. Kate 
had once been passionately fond of paintings, but she was 
no longer the same woman, and if she had been, these were 
not fit for her to see. There was one picture, not there, 
but upon the retina of the mind’s eye, almost continually 
present to her ; a view of her husband on the ignominious 
scaffold. 

The baffled rou6 then brought to her lap some of the 
curious trifles of art, resolved to direct her mind from the 
stern, absorbed, aspect which it wore. Suddenly, consum- 
ing with passion, he threw himself at her feet, and though 
it was like making love to a statue, poured forth a volume 
of professions of affection, and offers of pecuniary assistance. 

‘Begone I’ she cried, rising, and making a step towards 
the door. 

‘ Nay, madam, you don’t go yet I’ exclaimed D’Orsay, 
and running to the door, removed the key from the lock. 

‘ Why do you take the key V she inquired calmly. 

He had recently discovered the loss of another key to 
the same lock, but had no idea that it had disappeared out 
of a drawer in his store upon the night his premises were 
robbed. To Kate’s interrogation he replied sneeringly, 
‘I have lost the duplicate, and consequently am very 
careful of this I’ 

‘ But you expect Braxton,’ said Kate, fixing her eyes 
upon him inquiringly. ‘ How can he come in ? I came 
Idther to see him, not you, sirrah I’ 

‘ I am a better-looking man, Kate, and must answer your 


326 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

purpose,^ was his sullen rejoinder. The fact was, 
D’Orsay had had no intention of entrapping the incendiary 
upon his premises, and did not even know his haunts or 
where he was to be found. Nothing would have afforded 
him more satisfaction certainly, than to see Tom swing 
upon the gallows ; for he knew him to be now his deadly 
enemy ; but he was a coward, and would as soon beard a 
lion in his den, as encounter the ruthless ruffian at a late 
hour, even in his hotel. Indeed he would not have cared 
to meet him by daylight, unless well manacled and under 
a strong escort of police. 

‘ You do not dare to tell me that you have deceived me ; 
and Braxton will not come ?’ cried Kate, fiercely confront- 
ing him, and grasping him by the arm. 

‘ Both hands, dear Kate ; both hands ; give me both 
hands !’ and the flushed libertine threw his arms around 
her. 

^ JerooshyP cried a voice well known to the reader. 

* Ye pesky sarpint, ye I Stop that!’ and a man’s boot 
descended heavily into the chamber, and struck the floor 
near where D’Orsay stood. As astonished as if a bomb- 
shell had fallen at his feet, the villain let go his hold, and 
Kate escaped from his embrace. 

D’Orsay listened, and looked, motionless and in silence, 
a few moments, for the speaker. It was not very late, 
and the house was still. In a minute after he heard the 
key inserted in his door. Warned by past experience, he 
started forward to bolt it. As he did so, the door was 
opened, and Tom Braxton entered I As quick as thought, 
he clutched the panic-stricken and speechless D’Orsay by 
the throat, and stabbed him repeatedly in th side. The 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 321 

unfortunate man struggled with the energy of despair for a 
few moments, after receiving the fatal blows, and the 
assassin raised his hand to strike again. At this instant, 
Kate Mudge, who had come forward stealthily from the 
corner whither she had retired from the rudeness of the 
libertine, sprang upon the murderer and grasped with 
both hands the hilt of the uplifted and bloody knife. 

‘ Jerooshy roared the same voice, with a slight nasal 
twang, which had a minute before astonished the tailor. 
But whence came it ? It was evidently from John Hard ; 
Tom Braxton remembered it, and now it fell upon liis ear 
like a knell ; but where was John ? Many of our readers 
who remember the architectural peculiarities of Holt's 
Hotel, will recollect that in that immense building there 
were many interior bed-rooms which would have been 
entirely dark even at mid-day but from the communication 
of light from the more fortunate external apartments 
adjoining. Each of these dark bed-rooms had a small 
oblong sliding sasl at the top of the wall next to the ceil- 
ing, affording an aperture not large enough for the passage 
of a man's body, but sufficient for the entrance of a few 
rays of light from the contiguous room which looked upon 
the street. Two smaller apartments had formerly been 
indebted in this way to the one occupied by D'Orsay, but 
when he became a tenant, not relishing this architectural 
shift, he had tastefully concealed it by extending the up- 
holstery of his street windows over the entire upper border 
of the room. Still, he had not been permitted to secure 
the sash, and if his next-door lodger were a tall man and 
would stand upon his bed, he could slide the window open, 
lift the drapery, and look in. The rooms, however, were 
so rarely occupied, and seldom twice by the same lodger, 


828 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

that the windows had remained undisturbed, and D’Orsay 
almost, if not entirely, forgot that they were there. Upon 
the night in question, one of these rooms (regarded as 
good enough for a gentleman of rural occupation) was 
occupied by our w^orthy friend John Hard. Returning 
late from the Park Theatre — his first visit to a dramatic 
exhibition — with his head full of horses, the events of the 
evening, and the incidents of the race-course — ^he was 
divesting himself of his clothing, when it occurred to him 
that he should certainly smother before morning in lodgings 
90 close. He had always been used to sleeping with his 
window partly open, even in winter, and he could not 
endure to be shut up as he now found himself. A little 
lurid light, glimmering through red damask, showed the 
locality of the window near the ceiling, and standing upon 
his bed, he shoved the sash aside, and lifted the obstruct- 
ing upholstery. His face must have appeared strange 
enough to the persons in D’Orsay’s apartment, had they 
obtained a glimpse of it, gazing down upon them through 
the Aperture. John himself was profoundly astonished at 
the sight of Kate ; and when he beheld her resisting the 
rude advances of the libertine (who was a stranger to 
him), his indignation against the poltroon elicited — ‘Jeroo- 
shy,’ and the boot. An inefifeccual effort upon his part to 
get through the narrow aperture, was arrested by the 
sudden appearance of the assassin and his murderous a«sault 
upon D’Orsay. 

In another moment, John Hard — ^minus hat, coat, vest 
and one boot — was thundering at the door of D’Orsay^s 
apartment for admittance ; for he found it locked, and it 
could not be opened from the outside. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


329 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

John Hard jn hand, with one Boot — The Murderer at Bay, Defies 
Arrest — John becomes a Battering Ram — Tom Braxton escapes 
through the window — Kate the Instrument of Just Retribution — 
Death of D’Orsay — Kate, threatened with Imprisonment, is saved 
by Harry Price. 

‘Open here, ye pesky varmint 1^ shouted John through 
the keyhole, and shook the door with a violence that, 
together with his impatient cries, speedily brought a dozen 
lodgers from their beds, and the clerk and sundry porters 
to the spot. 

‘ WhaPs the matter V * What are you doing there 
‘ What’s all this noise for ?’ cried several in a breath. 

‘ Murder ; there’s a murder been done here I’ exclaimed 
John ; his rough honest face pale with horror and excite- 
ment. 

‘ Who did it?’ inquired two or three, half affrighted. 

‘ I know him ; I saw him !’ replied John. ‘ It is Tom 
Braxton, and if we ain’t quick, there will be another 
murder and again he shook the door with much force. 
‘ Break the door through I’ said the clerk. 

‘ Stand away, there,’ cried Braxton from within, ‘ or 
I’ll put a brace of bullets through you.’ 

All promptly stepped aside from the door, except John, 
who continued to shake it. 

‘ Shall I git you a crowbar, massa ?’ suggested a color- 
ed porter, standing at a safe distance. 

‘ Attempt to break the door, and I’ll kill this woman 1’ 
shouted the murderer, hoarsely. 


330 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

‘ The pesky varmint ! He's as full of venom as a rattle- 
snake I' said John, in a low voice to the others. 

* Stay not your hand for me,' cried Kate Madge from 
within ; ‘ I fear him not. He will not harm me.' 

‘ Be quiet I’ they heard the assassin say. ‘ What do I 
care for one or two lives, more or less, now ?' 

All listened attentively. The groans of a human being, 
as if in the agonies of death, could be heard distinctly. 

An officer of the watch, who had just come into the hall, 
escorted by a porter, tried the door with a pick-lock, but 
to no purpose. ‘ Surrender to the police ! Come out, and 
there shall be no harm done to you. I want to come into 
the room. Be a sensible man, and open the door,' said 
the officer persuasively. 

^Pm armed to the teeth, and won't be taken alive,' 
cried Tom fiercely. * Stand away from the door, or yon 
are a dead man I' 

The prudent policeman started back hastily, and inti- 
mated that it would be prudent to send for a larger force. 
* 1 have only one pistol,' added he considerately, * and this 
villain probably has a pair.' 

'He is tying the sheets together, to escape by the 
window I' cried Kate. ' Have no fears for my safety, but 
break through the door 1' 

A loud curse upon her succeeded from Tom Brax- 
ton, followed by a pistol-shot, which perforated the door, 
and lodged in the plastering on the other side of the hall. 

' Jerooshy I' exclaimed John Hard. 

'A desperado!' said the officer. ‘Stand back, and let 
him fire the other.' 

This was an unnecessary caution to the crowd, whom he 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 331 

pressed back with his extended arms to a safer distance. 
It is not a pleasant occupation to stand within the possible 
range of an unseen pistol. But John stood his ground, 
very anxious for Mrs. Mudge’s safety. She reassured 
him in a moment, and again bade him to break the door 
in. 

‘ I’ll dew it,’ said John resolutely, ‘ or break a trace. 
How I wish I had my old stompers on I I mean a pair 
o’ boots I left at home, gentlemen. Real sockdolagers / 
Guess I wouldn’t make more than one mouthful of that 
door. But now, plague take it, I ain’t got but one boot 
on, and that’s a fashionable one, and don’t weigh more’n 
two pounds. Hows’ever, I reckon I can kick a few ; so 
here goes !’ And jumping across the hall (or ‘entry,’ as 
they call it in Yankee land), at one bound, he planted his 
shod foot full into the second panel of the door, with the 
force of a pile-driver. It was a strong one, but what could 
withstand such a blow? Battered from its plaee, the 
panel fell upon the inside. At the instant, John dropped 
upon his hands and knees, and a bullet whizzed through 
the hole he had made. It grazed his hair, and lodged like 
the other in the opposite wall. Looking quickly through 
the opening made in the panel, he saw Tom Braxton strug- 
gling with Kate, who was endeavoring to prevent his 
escape through the window. She had grappled with him, 
with a stern determination, superior to fear, and madly 
insensible to danger. Hers was the strength of a mad- 
man for the time, and though desperation nerved his 
muscles, Braxton had found it impossible to make her 
relax her hold upon him. Once he attempted to push her 
through the open window, but she clung to him with a 


332 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


tenacity that even his teeth could not make her relinquish; 
and satisfied that he could not succeed in his effort, with- 
out sharing the same fate, he had abandoned it. Deprived 
of his knife which she had cast from him when he had raised 
it for a final blow at D’Orsay, he had now no weapon but 
his empty pistols. Grasping one of these, he gave her a 
brutal blow with it upon her fair forehead, just as John 
Hard obtained a view of the struggle, and felled her to the 
floor. 

^ Jerooshy I’ cried John, more enraged than he had ever 
been before, or has ever been since ; and projecting, in his 
peculiar manner, his whole weight at the door with aU 
his might — this time with both feet foremost — ^he gave 
it the concussion of a trip-hammer or battering-ram ; and 
to the unspeakable admiration of the astonished specta- 
tors, all but the outer frame gave way, and fell upon the 
floor inside. 

^Sorne of ye go below shouted Mr. Hard, as he 
entered ; *The sarpent has cleared through the winder I’ 

‘Impossible!' cried the clerk, coming to the door, ‘It 
is forty feet from the pavement. Good heavens, see here I 
And he gazed with horror upon the bleeding form of 
D'Orsay. 

J ohn Hard raised Kate to her feet as tenderly as if 
she were an infant. She recovered instantly, and with a 
cry, ‘ He shall not escape!’ ran to the window, and cast 
off from the fastening to which he had secured it, the end 
of a rope which Braxton had made of the linen sheets of 
D’Orsay’s bed, and was- now letting himself down by. 
A cry, a curse, and in a moment after, a prolonged groan, 
succeeded. John ran to the window, and looked down, 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 333 

but the night was dark, and he could see nothing. The 
watch on the look-out below, however, rushing to the spot 
where the murderer had fallen, found Braxton literally 
impaled alive upon the iron spear-heads of the area-railing. 
Extricating him with some difficulty, the police bore the 
disabled villain to the nearest station-house. 

The Captain of the district police returned in a few 
moments to arrest the woman whom Tom, with undying 
malignity, accused of being his accomplice : but Kate had 
disappeared, no one knew whither. 

‘ His heart still flutters,’ said John Hard, with his huge 
hand upon the breast of -the unfortunate D’Orsay, at 
whose side he was kneeling, ‘ Why on airth don’t some on 
ye bring a doctor?’ Two or three ran to comply with 
the suggestion. John raised the body into a sitting pos- 
ture, the back and shoulders resting against his knee, 
while his left hand supported the head. ‘ Bring me some 
brandy and water in a glass ;’ said he, and added in a 
lower tone, as if to himself, ‘ it’s all that it’s fit for.’ The 
liquor was found upon the sideboard close at hand, and 
John held a little of it, in a glass, to the colorless lips of 
the wounded man. There was a slight gasp, and the eyes 
fixed a dying gaze, imploringly, upon the young farmer’s 
compassionate face. The lips moved, as if essaying in 
vain to speak. Every voice was hushed, and the spec- 
tators listened intently, to catch the least word that the 
unhappy man might utter. J ohn again applied the stimu- 
lating drink. With another effort, D’Orsay spoke the 
name of his murderer. 

* Baxter did it?’ said a spectator. 

‘ Tom Braxton,^ said D’Orsay, more distinctly. 


334 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

* Yes/ said John Hard^ ‘ Tom Braxton; I saw him do’t/ 

* And the woman?^ said the captain of the watch. 

^ If/ said John Hard, ‘ yeVe got a word left in yer 
miserable body, ye’ll acquit Kate Mudge 1’ and he looked 
anxiously at the face of the dying man. 

* Innocent,’ responded D’Orsay, with more energy than 
he had yet shown. ‘ She is innocent I But I, how 
guilty J I am fainting, I am dying 1’ 

He beckoned for drink. It was again applied to his 
lips ; and after a moment or two, he spoke again in broken 
sentences. 

‘ Give me champagne — on the sideboard — not that — a 
fresh bottle. I am dying I’ 

His bloodless face then became convulsed, as if with 
terror, and he cried, 

* Oh God, what will become of me V 

A young surgeon, who had just entered, insisted, very 
properly, that the spectators should give the dying man 
more air ; and stooping down to D’Orsay, he was about 
to raise the bosom of his shirt which adhered closely ta 
his breast by reason of the clotted blood that saturated 
it, when he was cautioned by Mr. Hard not to do so ; but 
the inexperienced practitioner haughtUy insisted ; and the 
effect was, to open the wounds upon the side and set 
them to bleeding afresh. In a few minutes, D’Orsay 
expired from loss of blood. We could moralize upon his 
ill-spent life, of which, as he lay there amid the mocking 
splendors of his apartment, he afforded a ghastly illustra- 
tion, but forbear, content to let his story convey its own 
moral. 

He left property to the amount of about twenty thou- 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 335 

sand dollars, but it became a bone of contention, prolific in 
litigation among uncles, aunts, cousins and persons still 
more distantly related to him ; and we are not certain 
that it does not remain in Chancery to this day. 

At ten o’clock a.m., next succeeding the arrest, a Coro- 
ner’s inquest was held upon the body of the murdered 
man, and a verdict rendered in accordance with the facts, 
viz. : that ‘ The deceased came to his death from stabs 
inflicted upon him with a bowie-knife, by Thomas Braxton, 
with intent to kill.’ 

At a subsequent stage of the proceedings in this case, 
on the same day, John Hard was required to give bonds 
to appear as evidence in the trial of the accused. The 
Kentuckian Mend at the hotel had formed quite a liking 
for John, whose rough, frank, manly nature, resembled his 
own, and he stepped promptly forward, at this demand, 
which had somewhat staggered the young farmer, and 
offered a few remarks. 

‘ Major,’ said he to John, loud enough for all to hear — 
* they want you to be on hand at this trial when it comes 
off. What say ye, ole boss, will you do it ?’ 

* Yes,’ replied John, ‘ to be sure I will.’ 

‘ Thar, gentlemen,’ said the Kentuckian, tearing off a 
leaf of tobacco, and holding it ready to thrust into his 
mouth as soon as he should have got the words from his 
tongue, ‘ I allow that’s sufficient. Major Hard says he’ll 
be on hand when wanted,’ and in went the weed, as if 
the matter were settled, and no more remained to be 
said. 

* That won’t do,’ said the magistrate. ‘ We must have 
a bond.’ 


336 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

‘ Look here, ole boss,’ rejoined the Kentuckian, chewing 
his weed for a moment, as if it were a mouthful of spruce 
gum, and then expectorating such a quantity of juice as 
made the captain of the watch — a very neat man — step 
back in some alarm for his light pantaloons — ‘Major 
Hard’s word is a heap better than any o’ your dodrotted 
bonds, I reckon.’ 

‘ I’ll go bail for him to any amount,’ cried the Yirginian, 
stepping forward. 

‘ Are you a householder here ?’ inquired the justice. 

‘ No sirri’ was the proud reply ; ‘ I am a Yirginian.’ 

‘You won’t do,’ said his honor, dryly. 

‘ Then,’ said the landlord of ‘ Holt’s’ ‘ I will. You 
know 7M.y Judge Riker?’ 

His honor smacked his lips involuntarily at the remem- 
brance of the luxurious dinners he had had at the great 
hotel, and with a jocular remark or two, took the ini> 
keeper’s name to the bond. 

‘It is a suspicious circumstance, and calculated to 
throw doubt upon the woman who, agreeably to the tes- 
timony of Major Hard, was in Mr. H’Orsay’s room at the 
time the murder was committed, that she has gone no 
one knows whither, and cannot be found,’ said the magis- 
trate, gravely. ‘ If particeps criminis, she might well 
seclude herself, but — Cap’n (here he addressed the officer 
of the watch), I think you said you made diligent search 
for her V 

‘ Have had three of the police after her, everywhere, 
your honor, and at all the points at which she would be 
likely to seek to escape from the city,’ replied the man, 

‘ but without success.’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 33t 

* It looks bad,^ said the justice, shaking his head 
dubiously. 

At this moment, a lady, clad in half mourning, walked 
quickly into their presence ; unattended, but entirely self- 
possessed, though very pale. 

* Jerooshy!^ exclaimed John Hard, *here she is!^ 

Sure enough it was Kate. Her testimony was soon 

rendered quietly, but with stern resolution, and without 
reserve. 

* Now, madam,' said the magistrate, * we shall have to 
do in your case, as with a previous important witness. 
You must give bonds in the sum of $2,000 to appear at 
the trial.' 

The landlord knew nothing of Mrs. Mudge, and would 
not become bail for her ; and J ohn Hard and his Southern 
friends were not eligible, though entirely willing. 

‘ I cannot procure the required bonds until after the 
lapse of a few days,' said Mrs. Mudge. ‘ In the mean- 
time' — 

* In the meantime. Madam,' said the judge, blandly, * I 
must detain you in custody.' 

‘ In other words,' rejoined Kate, calmly, ‘ I am to be 
committed to prison. May I ask, to what prison V 

‘ To the Tombs,' said the magistrate, and added apolo- 
getically, ^ It is customary.' 

‘ Oh, get out. Judge ! ye don't mean so I' cried John 
Hard. 

The Kentuckian ejaculated, ‘Chain-lightning I' and chewed 
his tobacco in a perfectly ravenous manner, full of excite- 
ment. 

The Virginian, too, was boiling over with indignation, 
15 


338 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OB 

‘ You don’t mean to say, sir,’ said he, ‘ that you detain 
in prison, persons whose only offence is, that they can 
testify in some expected trial.’ 

‘Yes, sir ; unless they can give satisfactory security for 
their appearance when wanted,’ replied the magistrate. 

‘ And if a man happens to be poor, and can’t give tho 
required bail to appear as a witness, you imprison him 
under the same roof with murderers and villains, until his 
testimony is wanted ?’ said the Virginian. ‘ Is thar any- 
thing in African slavery more cruel than that ?’ 

‘ It is the custom in Boston as well as New York,’ said 
the magistrate. ‘ But for it, many a murderer would go 
unhung, on account of the absence of a material wit- 
ness.’ 

‘That’s true,’ said the Virginian, ‘but if you must 
keep a poor fellow in custody, for that purpose, why not 
have a respectable house, properly guarded, to be sure, 
but not with the odium of a common prison or jail 
attached to it ?’ 

‘ Technically,’ said his honor, ‘ technically speaking, the 
Tombs, or City Prison, is only a houst of detention.^ 

‘ Practically, it is the place whar you keep and hang 
your murderers!’ rejoined the Virginian. ‘ This lady shall 
not go thar I’ 

‘ No sirr /’ ejaculated the Kentuckian. 

‘ I calkylate not!’ said Mr. Hard, indignantly ; ‘ I’m a 
friend of liberty, regulated by law, but when in the course 
o’ human events, it becomes necessary to — to — kick, I 
kin do it!’ and his defiant eye glanced .rom the judge to 
the three policemen who stood near by, awaiting the order 
to remove Mrs. Mudge. 


THB THREE APPRENTICES. 339 

*I’m right thar, myself, Major I’ said the Kentnckian — 
meaning by this, that he was with Mr. Hard in any 
demonstration that he might see fit to make. 

John might have done something very foolish (for resis- 
tance to law is always absurd) had not an unlooked-for 
interference occurred just in the nick of time. 

A young gentleman, who had just entered the room in 
some haste, and tarried long enough with the spectators to 
learn the state of the proceedings, now advanced, just as 
the judge put the question — 

‘ Is there any competent person who will go bail for this 
lady V 

‘ I will sign the bond, s^r, and be answerable for her 
appearance at the triaV said the young gentleman. ‘ I 
am a house-holder, in this city. I own the house I occupy, 
No. 7 Bond street. My name is Henry H. Price. There 
are among the spectators two merchants, known to your 
honor, who are my friends. Mr. Prime and Mr. King 
(he added, beckoning to two gentlemen, who accordingly 
came forward), will you be kind enough to say to his 
honor that I am good for this bond V 

* Yes,’ said one of them, ‘ if it were for a hundred thou- 
sand, instead of two.’ 

‘ It is sufficient,’ said the Judge, and between the three 
the bond was at once executed. 

‘ Though never personally acquainted with you. Madam, 
or your father’s family, I have often heard my father speak 
of both,’ said Harry, as he handed the grateful Kate into 
her carriage, which stood at the door. ‘ I, too, am a 
Bostonian by birth, though now resident in this city. 
My father lived in Pearl street.’ 


340 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

The reader will remember that Mr. Price has appeared 
before in this history. 

Kate remembered the name very well, and she accepted 
of Harry^s escort in company with the delighted John 
Hard, who left his Southern friends in the best possible 
humor, to return in Holt’s carriage, to their hotel. 

In the afternoon of the same day, Mrs. Mudge left in 
the Providence boat for Boston, and as Mr. Price desired 
to go thither himself (upon business connected with the 
settlement of his father’s estate), he availed himself of the 
privilege, with her consent, to accompany her. 

Mr. Hard had been cordially urged by Harry to make 
his house in Bond street his home during the remainder 
of his necessary sojourn in New York, but John had his 
fears that it was ‘ too kind o’ stuck up and aristocratic,’ 
to use his own thought ; besides, he ‘ didn’t like to be 
beholden to anybody, and rather pay his own scot.’ 

He missed his good old mother’s cooking very much, 
however, at the hotel, and perceiving that Holt never had 
any apple-sauce on the table, he concluded to go up and 
try the * Clinton’ a spell ; especially as the Yirginian and 
Kentuckian were about to leave for Newport. Accord- 
ingly, on the same morning upon which they left (with 
many shakes of the hand and pressing invitations for him 
to visit them upon their plantations, in the Fall), which 
was the second day succeeding the race, he called for his 
bill. ‘ How much to pay ?’ said he, to the clerk. 

* Seven dollars. Major,’ was the reply. 

‘ Seven dollars and no apple-sarce 1’ grumbled John, 
and was producing some bills from his huge calf-skin pocket- 
book, when the landlord closed it playfully, and replaced it. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 341 

* Major, you know I can’t let you go, because I am bound 
for you I You have some weeks to stop, and I will keep 
you as a regular boarder, cheap,’ replied Holt.' 

* But ye ain’t got no apple-sarce here,’ said John. ‘Say 
nothing, Mr. Hard, and I’ll have some.’ 

‘That’s all,’ said John, ‘ but ye must keep up with the 
times, ye know. I don’t mind the luxuries, but apple-sarce 
is one of the necessaries of life.’ 


CHAPTER XL. 

The Murderer’s Trial — He seeks to implicate the Innocent — John 
Hard Badgered by a Lawyer — Kate’s Interview with her hus- 
band — Penitence and Pride — Nathan on a Good Foundation. 

The murder of Mr. D’Orsay by Braxton occurring near 
the commencement of the term of Oyer and Terminer, 
Tom was arraigned for trial as soon as he was sufficiently 
recovered from the wounds received in his fall, to appear 
in the dock ; about six weeks subsequent to the commis- 
sion of his last capital crime. 

We cannot say what would have been his chance of 
acquittal if he had been of a proud family in Kentucky, 
and his trial had occurred in that state ; especially if his 
victim were only a school-master, from New England. 

Since the verdict of ‘ not guilty,^ in the recent trial of 
Matt. Ward (AprU, 1854), our confidence in the admi- 
nistration of justice in that quarter must vary according 
to the social position and influence of the persons arraigned. 
We were present at the memorable trial, in Boston, of 


342 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

Professor John W. Webster, for the murder of Dr. George 
Parkman ; and day after day, for a week or more, sitting* 
within arm’s-length of the man of science, and elevated 
rank in society, saw and heard his personal friends — cele- 
brated savans, physicians, doctors of divinity, the Presi- 
dent of the college with which he was connected, the 
wealthy merchant, the judge from the bench, all — notwith- 
standing the unpopular character of the victim — yielding 
impartially and unreservedly, the testimony which was to 
complete every link in the chain of evidence against the 
murderer. Ilis talents, his learning, his virtuous and 
highly-bred family, his aristocratic associations, could not 
shield him, nor avert any of the force of the blow, which 
he w*as to receive from the sword of justice. Inch by inch, 
wdth influential and powerful counsel, and all the resources 
of his own fertile brain, he combated the damning proof 
of his guilt, exhibited to that court ; but all in vain. Yet 
the evidence was entirely circumstantial. 

now different was the case of Matt. Ward, the mur- 
derer of Prof. Butler I He, too, like Prof. Webster, 
belonged to a family of eminent social station, but the tes- 
timony that he killed his victim was of the most direct and 
positive kind. No one denies this : it is admitted on all 
hands. But wealthy friends, and family influence, and the 
influence of caste, did for him what they could not do for 
Professor Webster, notwithstanding all his personal use- 
fulness — and the Kentucky jury had the face to bring in a 
verdict of — not guilty. 

But let us recapitulate briefly (that they may have a 
more enduring record in our memory), the facts of this 
murder which man has left to God to punish. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 843 

An amiable and accomplished gentleman, Prof. Bntler 
had succeeded, with much pains-taking, in establishing a 
first-class school in Louisville. Among the high-blooded 
Southern lads with whom he had to deal, was one belong- 
ing to the wealthy aristocracy of Ward, which has long 
made a figure in high life at the West. This lad was 
intolerably insolent and refractory, and after repeated pro- 
vocation, Mr. Butler chastised him, in order to maintain 
the discipline of the school. Judging from the character 
of the teacher, and the aggravation of the case, we do not 
doubt that, if ever corporal punishment is to be inflicted by 
a teacher, young Ward was a fit subject for it. 

The sequel is thus told : — 

‘ On the 2d of November, at about 9 o’clock in the 
morning, Matthew F. Ward went to a gun-shop in Louis- 
ville, bought a self-cocking pistol, which “ would send a 
bullet through a two-inch board anyhow,” as the maker 
of it testified, and ordered it loaded. He afterward bought 
another of the same kind, which he also ordered loaded. 
Percussion-caps were put upon both, and they were thrust 
into the breast-pocket of his coat. He then went home 
and told his mother that he was going to the school-room 
of Mr. Butler, to demand an apology-of him for having, on 
the day previous, punished his brother, Willie Ward, and 
for having charged him with lying. His mother advised 
him to be calm, and to take his brother Robert with him, 
as Butler was a larger man than he was. Matthew told 
his brother Robert to get his hat and come along, which 
he did, taking with him also a large bowie-knife which he 
was in the habit of carrying. The two brothers proceeded 
to the school-room, and asked for Mr. Butler, who was 


344 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

engaged in his duties, in the midst of his pupils, and who 
came forward on being called. Matthew Ward told 
Butler he had come for an explanation as to his having 
whipped his brother. Butler asked him to step into his 
private room, where he would explain it to him. Ward 
refused, saying that was the place to settle it. 

‘ Mr. Butler nodded. Matthew said — what are your 
ideas of justice ? Which is the worst, the boy who begs 
chestnuts and throws the shells on the floor, and then lies 
about it, or my brother who gave them to him ? Mr. 
Butler said he would not be interrogated, putting his^ 
pencil in his pocket and buttoning up his coat. Matt, 
repeated the question. Butler said, there is no such a boy 
here. Matt, said, that settles the matter ; but you called 
my brother a liar, and for that I must have an apology. 
Butler said he had no apology to make. Is your mind 
made up? said Matt. Butler said it was. Then, said 
Matt., you must hear my opinion of you : you are a d — d 
scoundrel and coward. ' 

‘ This statement of what took place thus far is from the 
evidence of Ward’s brother Robert, who stood by, and 
who was also under indictment as an accessory to the mur- 
der. It agrees substantially with that of other witnesses. 
Robert Ward proceeds to state that on being thus called 
a “ d — d scoundrel and coward,” Butler “ struck Matt, 
twice, and pushed him back against the door.” He is the 
only one of all the witnesses who swears to any such thing. 
One or two of the boys state that Butler put his hands our 
toward Ward; and one says i that he pushed him. All 
agree that Matt, drew his pistol, placed it against Butler’s 
breast, and fired. Butler exclaimed, “ My poor wife and 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 345 

child I” and fell. There was, of course, a rush of the 
terrified boys, and Robert Ward drew his bowie-knife, 
which he brandished, ordering them all to stand off. The 
Wards left the room. Butler was carried home and died 
that night.^ 

Well may the public press throughout the land 
denounce, again and again, the iniquitous acquittal of the 
murderer. 

* Again it has been decided in this State,^ says the 
Louisville, Ky., Courier, ‘ after a deliberate trial, conduct- 
ed with all the usual forms of law, that killing a man en- 
gaged in the peaceful pursuit of his profession, is not mur- 
der ! Again it has been decided in this State, by a jury 
regularly empanelled and solemnly sworn, that taking the 
life of a man of peace, who has sought no quarrel — who 
has been guilty of no offence — who has never been known 
to lift his hand against his fellow-man in anger — is not 
even manslaughter ! Again it has been decided in this 
State, that virtue has no protection in the midst of its use- 
fulness — that in the law of the land there is no shield for 
humble worth. 

‘ The criminal code of Kentucky is a code of blood. Let 
no one try to think that this is not so. The stigma can 
no longer be escaped from. “ Out — out, damned spot 1” 
may be vociferated, but it will not out. The blot is in our 
escutcheon. The scales of Justice have disappeared. The 
broad blank field is covered with human blood ! Who 
does not shudder at this contemplation ? Who feels safe 
in the presence of such a fact ? Who knows when the 
hand of the assassin may not strike him to the earth ? 

‘Let us not deceive ourselves. This verdict is one of 
15 * 


346 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

momentous concern. No man, after the trial commenced, 
expected a verdict of not guilty ; every man v^o has 
spoken to us upon the subject to the very close, expected 
that the jury would “ hang.” A verdict of acquittal — 
even the possibility of such a verdict, in the face of the 
strong and overwhelming testimony as to the facts, had 
found its way into the head of no man who has expressed 
himself upon the subject in our presence.’ 

Everywhere throughout Kentucky, the press (to its 
everlasting credit be it spoken,) has expressed a similar 
opinion. But to return to the murderer of D’Orsay. — 

Having no money to fee a lawyer of his own, counsel 
was appointed for 'Braxton by the Court, and he was inge- 
niously defended ; but the evidence against him was irre- 
sistible ; the testimony of Kate Mudge and John Hard, 
and the dying declarations of his victim, being so direct 
and irrefragable. There was, too, ample evidence of his 
previous bad life, his association with a gang of thieves, 
his intemperate habits, his delirious debauches, and his 
reckless and revengeful disposition. The jury had been 
out less than half an hour, when they returned with a 
verdict of guilty. He was remanded to the Tombs to 
await sentence, and sullenly retired, exhibiting neither 
remorse nor feeling of any kind, at disclosures of crime 
which had riveted an immense throng of spectators to the 
spot for many hours. His senses appeared completely 
blunted and brutalized by the use of spirituous liquors : 
still, with a degree of ingenious malignity, he had endea- 
vored to affix to Kate Mudge the crime of having insti- 
gated him to the perpetration of the murder ; and, of 
pourge (s^h is the practice of the courts), due emphasis 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


347 


was laid upon this, and the probability of her implication, 
in the j^lea of the learned counsel. The defence rested 
mainly, however, upon the alleged insanity of the prisoner; 
but the testimony to this point only went to prove that 
the accused was often rum-crazy, and, on the day upon 
which the crime was committed, had suffered from mania, 
potu. 

Without pausing to describe the manner and replies of 
Kate in several painful passages of the proceedings, we 
will merely say, that, sustained by the same resolute pur- 
pose which had borne her through the scenes already 
feebly depicted, and aided by the presence of her aged 
father, and the intrepid Edwin, her testimony and demeanor 
upon the stand, and under the rigid cross-examination of 
the prisoner’s counsel, were such as won for her the respect 
. and admiration of every beholder. She did, indeed, deport 
herself with remarkable courage and presence of mind. 

A very elaborate and persistent effort was made to 
‘ badger’ the witness, Mr. Hard, but with all his simpli- 
city John had a certain shrewd wit of his own, and was 
wide awake for ‘ man-traps,’ as he called them, and 
usually ready with a keen answer. After having repeat- 
edly turned the smile against the legal gentleman, and 
the latter still continuing to annoy, he said to him, 

‘ I calkelate. Squire, ye’re jist about as sharp as some 
vinegar dad made some two years ago come October ; 
which was so sharp it cut the barrel right in halves, and 
split up all the old stuff in the cider mill.’ 

The learned counsel here desired the protection of the 
court, and John was commanded to confine his replies 
strictly to the questions, which he agreed to do j bat not 


348 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

without a characteristic protest against ‘ the abominable 
mean trick’ of badgering witnesses. A burst of applause 
following this demonstration, was promptly silenced by 
constable Hays, and the legal gentleman ‘ allowed’ that 
the witness might step down ; whereupon John hoped he 
hadn’t hurt his feelings any ; and wishing him success in 
a better cause, resumed his seat. 

We will not now tarry to narrate Mr. Hard’s conduct 
to the close of Tom Braxton’s career, and his amusing 
experience in New York life in less sombre scenes, but let 
it suffice to say, that by the request of Giles Godwin and 
his daughter, he consented to remain in the great city 
until Tom Braxton should have received his sentence. 

In the meantime, he was to see him often in prison, and 
obtain from him, if possible, a confession that he, and not 
Nathan Mudge, was guilty of the destruction of Mr. God- 
win’s house, in which Eunice Braxton and her child had 
lost their lives. 

Giles, and his daughter, and adopted son, Edwin Fair- 
banks, immediately returned to Boston. All felt anxious 
to console Nathan Mudge, and afford him every ray of 
hope they could under the dark cloud which hung over 
him ; but far more eager than all the rest to see him was, 
of course, his heroic 'and devoted wife. How he pressed 
her to his wildly beating heart as she entered his solitary 
cell, and blest her for her fidelity, for her sacrifices, for 
her angelic courage 1 And when he heard from her own 
sweet lips a more particular relation of her adventures 
during the mission which she had secretly undertaken, he 
was deeply affected, and shed many grateful tears. 

* But,’ said he. ‘ my faithful Kate, what hope have you 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 349 

that Tom’s ‘ conviction of the murder of D’Orsay, will 
strengthen your application for my pardon V 

‘He will not dare to die with the lie upon his lips V 
replied Kate, earnestly. 

‘ Ah,’ said Kat, sadly, ‘ you don’t know Tom Braxton 
as well as I do! He will die game, and never confess. 
Besides, my execution may be the first to occur.’ 

‘ Oh, my God, my God I Ko, no, no ; it shall not — ^it 
shall not be so, Nat,’ replied Kate, vehemently, ‘ You die 
upon an ignominious gallows ? No, rather let it be said, 
that you died by your own hand I’ 

‘Whether I die by the one or the other, Kate, it will 
still be my own hand that did it : — this hand that plied 
my throat with rum, till it brought me to this miserable 
endl’ cried the wretched felon, and paced his cell once or 
twice, in an agony of remorse, then broke forth into bitter 
apostrophe against his past intemperance. 

‘Rum, rum!’ he added, ‘accursed rum? What crime 
is there, that it will not stimulate a man to ? Yes, man 
and woman, both 1 For I have seen the mother, under 
its hellish influence, take her innocent and helpless babe 
from her breast, and throw it headlong upon the pave- 
ment! I have seen a drunken son try to kill his own 
father — I have seen it raise the hand of the young and 
vigorous against the aged and decrepid — arm husband 
against wife, and wife against husband ; destroying for 
ever the peace of families once prosperous and happy. 
And look at Tne, now, and Tom Braxton.’ 

‘ Nat, poor Nat,’ cried his wife interrupting him, ‘you 
shall not compare yourself with that fiend incarnate!’ 

‘ Still, but for the grace of God, I should have been as 


350 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

bad as he. Tom was older, and a little further along, and 
his strides longer than mine, in the highway of crime ; but 
God only knows what I might have become, if not brought 
up with a short turn, as I was.’ 

‘ Nathan,’ said his wife, reproachfully, ‘ you never were, 
and never could have become, like that monster. You 
never robbed a man — ’ 

‘ I never stole money nor goods, nor any article of pro- 
perty,’ said Nathan, interrupting her, ‘ but by my example 
younger men have been led into dissipation, and so, through 
me, been robbed of property, and, what is more, of health 
and reputation. I never raised my^hand against human 
life ; but who shall say, that the blood of these young 
men is not upon my skirts? Oh, Kate, Kate! God 
knows, that I repent of my sin, but will He ever blot out 
my transgressions from the book of his remembrance ?’ 

‘ You have been more sinned against than sinning,’ 
replied his wife, evading his question. 

‘No, no said Nat, ‘I used to think so, too, but I 
cannot delude myself any longer with that flattery. The 
scales have fallen from my eyes, and I see my own heart 
in all its sinfulness.’ 

‘ If Tom Braxton was as penitent as you are,’ said 
Kate, with a slight sneer, ‘ he would lose no time in mak- 
ing a confession that would liberate you.’ 

‘ For his sake, no less than my own, may God change 
his heart,’ said Nat ; hurt by the tone his wife had used, 
not so much on his own account as on hers ; still without 
seeming to notice it. 

‘ Is it possible, my dear husband, that you can feel any 
sympathy for a wretch who has wronged, and is still wrong- 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 351 

ing you so deeply?’ exclaimed Kate, with mingled surprise 
aud impatience. ‘ You would have him let loose again 
upon society, perhaps ?’ 

‘ No ; I would have him expiate his crime against the 
human laws which he has repeatedly outraged in sacri- 
ficing human life ; but, much as Tom has injured me, and 
fearful as is the fate which, through him, I am to suffer, 
I do pray that the Almighty will have mercy upon his 
soul, and render him a contrite and penitent man ; for 
oh ! my dear Kate, what a fearful thing it must be to die 
under the wrath of an offended God I’ 

‘ If there is a hell —said Kate — 

^ If V interrupted Nat ; ‘ Can you doubt it ? Can you 
believe, if Tom Braxton should die the same hardened 
and remorseless man he now is, that he would go to 
heaven V 

*No!’ exclaimed Kate, warmly, yet coloring with a 
sense of defeat, for it had been a part of her logic in reli- 
gious conversations with her friends to ignore the doctrine 
of future punishment for the impenitent. ‘ If I thought 
he would, I should pray with all my might to go to the 
other jflaoe? 

‘ We will pursue our account of the interview in the 
cell no longer, and only add that similar conversations 
occurred often between the high-spirited wife and her con- 
demned husband, upon the doctrine of human salvation, 
the necessity of a mediator between God and man, and 
the condition of the soul after death ; and to these dis- 
cussions the peculiarity of Nathan’^ situation lent extra- 
ordinary interest. His sister Susan was a greater com- 
fort to him at this time than anything in the world, 


352 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


except his mother’s Bible. At one of these visits to her 
brother’s cell, Susan found lying upon the little writing- 
desk, which was allowed him, the following lines, written 
while the cloud was yet over his spirit. They are expres- 
sive of a feeling common to contrite hearts, laboring under 
a sense of sin : — 

' THE SLEEP OF THE SOUL. ’ 

Arou.se, weak soul ! Awake — arise 1 
Thou’rt sleeping in the road to death! 

Mark how the fleeting time fast flies — 

Awake, my soul, while I have breath. 

How canst thou rest and I undone ? 

Oh, sluggish soul, make haste — awake ! 

Shake oflT the sleep the Evil One 
Hath long inveigled thee to take ! 

*Fain would I rouse,’ I hear thee sigh, 

‘Fain would I flee the wrath to come — 

But ah 1 in vain, in vain I try. 

Since sleep doth all my powers benumb.' 

‘ I am as one that sleeps, yet feels 
That peril lurks aroimd his bed ; 

But cannot shake the drowse that steals 
B/Csistlessly from heart to head.’ 

A waking sleep, a living death. 

Oh pray, poor soul, to God for aid ! 

‘I do — pray I iny soul it saith, 

But MY prayers die as soon as made. 

‘Weak ofispring of a heart matured 
In folly, guile, and gilded sin ! 

(Vice active still, though now abjured) 

Prayers such as mine can never win ! 



THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


353 


‘ As unfledged birds their bald wings try 
To soar aloft, but all in vain, 

So my poor prayers would cleave the sky, 

But sink alas ! to earth again !’ 

Oh that a faith-winged Christian prayer. 

To thee of God, poor soul, wer’t given ; 
That, like the lark, should pierce the air. 

And tireless, scale the gate of Heaven. 

Oh turn, dear soul, thine eyes to Him, 

Before whose glory angels bend. 

With faces veiled, while Cherubim 

And Seraphs, too, their homage blend: 

Then cast thine eyes to Calvary, 

"Where on the cross His only Son 
Thorn-crowned and bleeding died for thee, 

And prayed for those by whom ’twas done 1 

‘The Cross ? The Throne ?’ rejoins the soul, 

‘ A HALO only greets my view — 
Earth-bound so long, I’m like the mole. 

And cannot see as Christians do. 

‘My faded eyes, through long disuse 
(If haply ever used at all). 

So dim are grown, that they refuse 
Obedience to the spirit’s call. 

* Still, even as the blind well know 

That earth is fair and skies are bright, 

My nature feels, above, below, 

A God of love, and truth and might. 
**♦•♦* ** ♦ 

* Oh let no sensual opiate. 

To lethargy thy soul e’er sink, 

Lest, like mine own, it wake too late. 

All helplessly on hell’s dark brink!’ 


iJ54 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

Susan was so familiar with the Word of God, and the way 
of eternal life, and could so well expound it to him, and 
irradiate the sacred pages with the light of her own truly 
devotional spirit, that poor Nat was never so cheerful as 
when she was present in his interviews with his wife, who 
he saw with unspeakable satisfaction, was already half 
inclined to abandon her unbelief, and fix her hopes upon an 
anchor sure and steadfast, even J esus Christ, the Son of 
God. 

In these conversations, either in the narrow cell of the 
felon, or through the massive iron grating of its window, 
old Mr. Godwin and Edwin Fairbanks would occasionally 
take part. Nor were they confined to these friends : there 
were several prisoners who, by a larger latitude in dis- 
cipline than is now permitted, were allowed to talk with 
him ; and their dialogues would interest the thoughtful 
reader, but we have not space for the record. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

I 

Love in High Life — Harry Price in Upper Ten-dom — The Freaks of 
Cupid — The Rival Sisters. 

By a transition allowable in novelists, let us pass to 
new scenes and personages not before introduced to the 
reader. It is not ‘ dramatic,’ we know, to multiply the 
characters in a ^plot,’ after the point of interest has 
been attained, but this is only another evidence of the 
unnaturalness which marks a large majority of the pieces 
enacted upon the stage ; for where, in this every-day 


THE THREE APPRENTICES, 355 

world of ours, do we find, that new characters are not 
entering at all periods of the drama ? Many an unwritten 
story, in real life, is incomplete until most of the original 
principal movers in it have passed entirely from the stage 
of action, and at the eleventh, and perhaps even the 
twelfth, hour, new faces appear, and take a prominent 
part. Such is actual experience, and, as we should have 
a decided aversion to the adaptation oHhis story, or any 
portion of it, to the stage, even for the amusement of ‘ a 
moral audience,^ we shall be well pleased to be natural, 
even at the expense of not being ‘ dramatic/ 

Such being our sentiments, we shall not exclude from 
our narrative, for the sake of greater unity, the lion. 
Jacob Bogardus, and his interesting daughters, Helen 
and Jane — all descendants of the old Dutch burgomas- 
ters — men that flourished in state before such things as 
Mayor and Aldermen were known in New York. 

Jacob Bogardus was proud of his ancestry — it was a 
staunch one, and had done well for the country ; and his 
daughters were proud of him, for he, too, had acquitted 
himself handsomely in the councils of his state and nation. 
He was not merely an eminent lawyer, and a Very wealthy 
man, but a gentleman of the old school — a school, by the 
w'ay, in which no modern monitors were requisite to keep 
vigilant watch lest its pupils should neglect their duties. 
Judge Bogardus (for by that title he was universally 
known) was a gentleman, every inch of him. Cordial, 
benevolent, affable and polite, he was beloved by all who 
knew him ; and, although he had been many years a 
widower, and the locks upon his well-formed head had 
become thin and grey, and the whiskers extending mid- 


356 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

way to his white cravat, were silvery with age, his teeth 
were white and entire, his eyes still a lustrous hazel, and 
his cheeks fair and ruddy. In person, he was large and 
heavy, but when clad in his knee-breeches and moving 
through an old-fashioned country dance, in which he occa- 
sionally indulged, to the tune of Sir Roger de Coverley, 
in his own hospitable mansion, with a chosen few of the 
more intimate friends of the family, his step was as elastic 
and graceful as the lightest ; and far more free than that 
of his magnificent eldest daughter, Helen, who, conscious 
of her queenly beauty, and elevated station in the aristo- 
cratic world, glided majestically through the figures of 
the simple dance, only to please her father, who loved it 
all the better because its music was played with such 
spirit by * Jenny,’ the younger sister, who loved all his 
old favorite tunes dearly, and rattled them off upon her 
piano con amort. This, however, was only at home. The 
Judge had long passed the period when he would have 
danced elsewhere, and Jenny was too shy when abroad 
to venture even an approach to the piano, unless to turn 
the leaves of the music for her sister. Helen, having 
more musical taste and cultivation, could execute the most 
difficult compositions with facility and precision, in the 
presence of any of the aristocratic circles, of which she 
was regarded as the belle ; though, indulging the caprices 
of her haughty and contemptuous spirit, she would rarely 
play when solicited, and would usually withdraw from the 
piano as soon as her brilliant performance had excited a 
desire to hear more. 

^How could you be so disobliging, dear Helen,’ said 
J ane to her one night, as together in their richly furnished 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


357 


bed-room,' the two sisters were disrobing and preparing to 
retire to rest — ^poor Yan Wart pleaded with you so hard 
to play again Beethoven's Dream I He looked chagrined, 
ancT I really think he had occasion.' 

‘ And what occasion, pray ?' said Helen, with a haughty 
toss of her stately head, as she removed, with a jerk, the 
splendid tiara of diamonds and emerald stones from her 
brow, and suffered her auburn hair to fall in a silken 
volume upon her fair neck and heaving bosom, while she 
turned to her sister, who was in the act of tucking her own 
golden ringlets under the edges of the prettiest little night- 
cap that ever lady wore. 

‘What,' continued Helen, reddening with wounded 
pride, ‘ can give Yan Wart, or any other man, occasion to 
be offended with we ? Do I owe him any allegiance, that 
I should descend to the level of a professional performer 
to please him ?' 

‘ ^^ay, Helen,' replied Jane, ‘ the allegiance is evidently 
on his part. For so wealthy a suitor, I think I never knew 
one so devoted.' 

‘I've had twenty as wealthy as he,’ rejoined Helen, 
pouting her ripe cherry lips, and concealing, for a moment, 
the twin rows of small pearly teeth enshrined within. 

‘ But not of as ancient and noble a family,' said her sis- 
ter, as she tied her cap-strings at the mirror in front of 
which her sister stood. 

‘ He is not noble,' rejoined Helen, scornfully; and remov- 
ing her ear-drops, valued by hundreds of dollars, she cast 
them down with as little care as if they were glass beads. 
They were a present from Yan Wart. 

‘ But he is good-looking,' persisted Jane. 


358 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

‘ He is not half so handsome as Harry Price, who is at 
least five years younger,^ replied Helen. 

Jane changed color at this, and was fain to stoop for the 
double purpose of unlacing her gaiters, and concealing her 
tell-tale countenance from her sister. 

‘ Harry loves me,’ continued Helen, as, without perceiv- 
ing the emotion of Jane, she gathered the flowing hair from 
the unwilling neck, and confined it with a comb that might 
well rejoice in its duty. 

‘Do you think so ?’ faltered poor Jenny, entangling her 
shoe-string into an inextricable knot. 

‘ He says so, and I would take his word for more tha? 
Van Wart’s oath.’ 

Jenny’s heart beat wildly, and her head swam around. 

‘ I’m so dizzy !’ she said, and rising, sat down upon 
their richly-furnished bed, and pressed her hand upon her 
forehead. 

‘ You are fainting, Jenny 1’ cried Helen, dropping her 
night-dress hastily, and stepping quickly to her sister’s aid. 

‘ I am only a little dizzy,’ replied J ane. ‘ It came upon 
me in stooping so long over my vexatious boot-lacing. I 
shall feel better, when my heart stops beating.’ 

There was more of meaning in the last sentence, than 
Helen understood, and without a care upon her mind, she 
was, shortly afterwards, enjoying ambrosial slumbers, 
while her homely sister, for hours after, lay sleepless at 
her side, thinking of Henry Price, Esq. 

Attracted by the wondrous beauty of Helen (whose 
acquaintance he had formed at the Saratoga Springs), 
this young gentleman had been for some time past a fre- 
quent visitor at the residence of Judge Bogardus, who, 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 359 

much pleased with his frank and hearty, yet polished man- 
ners, always gave him a cordial welcome. Too modest to 
press himself upon the attention of her proud sister as long 
as there appeared to be any chance for the more wealthy 
Yan Wart, Harry bestowed much of his conversation upon 
Jenny, little thinking of the mischief he was making with 
her heart. 

At the breakfast table, upon the day succeeding the 
scene we have described between the two sisters, the 
J udge found one of his colored waiters attending at the 
silver urn, from which he was to receive his morning 
mocha. His daughter Jane, who generally presided over 
its aromatic glories, had not made her appearance at her 
usual early hour. 

‘How’s this, Cato,’ said the noble-looking old man, 
laying down the Courier^ and closing the tortoise-shell 
eye-glass which he had been balancing upon a nose like 
Washington’s — ‘Where is Miss Jane? We can’t do 
without Aer.’ 

‘ Missus not come down sta’rs yet, sare,’ replied the 
polite servant — a grey and grave-looking African, of 
almost preternatural height and thinness, clad, with the 
exception of a high black neck-stock, entirely in white — « 
’spect she’s not fully executed her twilight, sare.’ 

‘ Her toilet, you mean, Cato.’ 

‘Yes sare, dat ware what I suspicions is de more 
immejit proximate cause ob de delay.’ 

‘ Send Chloe, or the chambermaid, to the young ladies’ 
room.’ 

‘ Yes, sare,’ replied the ancient African, bowing briskly ; 
and, toeing out quite elaborately, as he walked over the 


360 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

heavy Turkey carpet, he looked into the spacious hall and 
stairway. 

‘ I now Aspects sare,^ said he, ‘ that Miss Jane are in 
de ack of ’scending de star’s, at dis instant moment ob 
time.’ 

It was Helen, however, and in a moment she entered 
the breakfast room, robed in a gorgeous dressing-gown, 
to which Cato bowed in mute adoration, as the imperial 
beauty brushed carelessly by him, and glancing first into 
the full-length mirror which reflected her faultless figure, 
confronted her father. 

‘ Aurora, now, fair daughter of the dawn,’ said her sire, — 
quoting Milton, in a mock-heroic manner. 

‘ If you make fun of me, pa. I’ll go to bed again 1’ 
cried Helen. 

‘What I’ exclaimed Judge Bogardus, with a humorous 
expression of countenance—* What is going to happen ?’ 

* It will happen, that Jenny, whose early rising you so 
often contrast with my lazy lying-a-bed, papa, will be last 
at the table this morning,’ replied Helen, smiling, and 
imprinting a kiss upon his cheek. 

* What’s the matter ? She is not ill, I hope,’ said the 
Judge.’ 

* I wonder, papa, if you ever look so anxious, when my 
last snooze laps over into the breakfast hour ?’ inquired 
Helen, playfully, as she took her seat at the urn. 

* Ha, ha, ha 1 I’m too used to that,^ said the good- 
humored old gentleman, laughing. * I believe you fear 
that the morning air will injure your good looks!’ 

‘ I know it never did improve them,’ rejoined Helen, in 
a positive manner, as she handed her father a cup of 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


361 


coffee, while Cato placed before him a silver-and-gold 
cream pitcher, and a sugar-bowl of the same costly mate- 
rial — ‘ and if I could have my way ’ 

‘ Which you do in everything,’ interrupted the Judge, 
^arenthdir/illy — ‘but you have not told me what’s the 
matter with Jenny,’ 

‘No I didn’t, did I?’ replied Helen, taking between her 
tapering fingers, gemmed with rings, a big lump of sugar, 
and dropping it into her coffee. ‘ Cato, pass me the rolls; 
and pray don’t wear that high stock another day. It 
looks like a segment of stove-pipe.’ 

Her father laughed heartily, for certainly Cato’s neck 
gear did somewhat resemble an iron cylinder, and ren- 
dered it impossible for him to incline his head without 
moving his whole body. 

‘Tlie world will think that you have only exchanged 
slavery for serfdom, and that we have put an iron collar 
upon you, Cato,’ continued Helen. ‘You must have it 
filed off.’ 

‘It onbuckles. Miss, jist like any gemmen’s stock,’ 
remonstrated Cato, who thought the article in question 
added materially to his respectability, besides affording a 
decided support to his long neck. 

‘ Well, take care and not wear it behind the carriage, 
when I am inside,’ said Helem ‘ It makes you look, in 
that position, like a cane with an ebony image on the top 
of it.’ The Judge laughed, and the old man was nettled. 

‘ Does you think Cain was a brack man. Miss Helen ? 
De best authorities differs on dat pint, lemme tell you I’ 
said Cato, with some warmth. 

‘ Never mind your authorities, Cato, now,’ said the 
16 


362 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS OR 


Judge, ‘ but reserve them for the kitchen. For my own 
part, I confess I lean to the opinion that Le was a white 
man.^ 

‘ Yah, yah !’ chuckled, in a low tone, the aged negro, 
his sable countenance beaming with a broad grin, and the 
whites of his eyes rolling in triumph towards his young 
mistress ; ‘ berry happy to hear you say so, sare, for you 
is a judge. Yah, yah !’ and on pretence of going after 
some warmer rolls, he hurried to the kitchen, and commu- 
nicated to old. Dinah, the cook, his wife, and the coachman, 
the gratifying intelligence, viz. : the J udge’s opiuiou ; 
which, as a matter of course, forever settled a question 
previously often mooted by those worthies, in the chimney 
corner, during the long winter uights. 

While Cato was thus, pleasantly occupied in the kitchen, 
and occasionally taking an observation of his high black 
stock, in a little glass, which for his own convenience he 
carried in his pocket. Miss Jane Bogardus joined her sire 
and sister at the breakfast-table. She, too, returned his 
salutation with a kiss, as Helen had done, but the smile 
was a forced one. 

‘ You look pale, my dear child,’ said the Judge, affection- 
ately ; ‘ the party at Mr. Yerplanck’s was too much for 
you, I fear.’ 

Perhaps so,’ replied Jane, quietly, and taking a seat 
at his side. 

‘ You may have caught cold, Jenny, in stepping from 
the door to the carriage,’ continued her father, who was 
very fond of her because, notwithstanding her hair was 
red, and her nose unclassical, she looked so good^ and was 
always dutiful, charitable, affectionate, and entirely free 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 363 

from selfishness. ‘ I noticed that your shoes were altoge- 
ther too thin for the pavement.^ 

‘How vulgar in the Yerplancks not to have carpeted 
the walk for the occasion !’ cried Helen. ‘ Why Jenny, 
it has made you look like a fright, this morning.’ 

‘ Nay, Helen,’ said the Judge, ‘ I can’t agree with you. 
J enny has not the slightest resemblance to any such thing. 

‘But, Jenny dear, you must make haste and pick up your 
very best looks by dinner-time, for I am going to bring 
you a beau to-day.’ 

Jenny colored, her first thought being of him who had 
occupied both her waking and sleeping visions, for the last 
three weeks. 

‘Why, I declare, Jenny,’ cried Helen, ‘ you can blush 
through that opaque complexion, after all ! Who is the 
man, papa ? Who is the redoubtable strange knight wlio 
offers himself in the lists against aU other competitors for 
the band of the right honorable Lady Jane Bogardus V 

This was said in sarcasm, for poor Jenny had no suitors, 
and her poverty in this particular afforded the belle of 
Broadway an endless fund of badinage, in which the object 
of it usually joined in perfect good humor, though now so 
serious and silent. 

‘Helen,’ said the Judge, reproachfully, ‘you ought to 
have been named Hector! Was it not enough for you to 
torment poor Cato as you did, but you must’ — 

* Still be classical, and aim a shaft at Janus ^ too?’ cried 
the beauty, who plumed herself somewhat upon he? wit. 
‘It serves her right; she has no business to wear two 
faces. When she came in she was pale ; you said “ beau,” 
and boo ! her face became red ; and now — presto ! you see 


364 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

her complexion is colorless. Have you swallowed a cha- 
meleon, sister?’ 

A ghost of a smile flitted over Jane’s wan countenance. 

‘ Never mind what she says, Jenny,’ rejoined the Judge, 
smiling, ‘ but prepare to set your cap for the young gen- 
tleman who will dine with me to-day.’ 

‘ Where does the fortunate individual, destined to such 
a delectable reception, hail from ?’ said Helen, in a mock- 
ing tone. ‘Cape Cod, perhaps! A member, possibly, of 
the cod-fish aristocracy ! and descended from the Pilgrim 
Fathers, Sculpin or Tar-box.’ 

The young lady, being a descendant of the Dutch set- 
tlers of New York, entertained a prejudice against the 
posterity of the Puritans, and never hesitated to express it. 

‘ Cod-fish, my dear,’ replied her father, gravely, ‘ are 
excellent eating, and the men who catch them’ — 

‘ Are worth catching in return. Is that what you 
mean. Papa ?’ said Helen, with a laugh. 

‘ Y'ou have finished the sentence in your own way let 
it go so,’ responded her father, smiling. 

‘ You have pronounced so many sentences, sir, on the 
bench,’ said Helen, ‘ that surely you will not object to my 
finishing a broken one at the table P 

‘ Have it your own way, you torment, but the friend 
whom I shall bring home with me is a Bostonian.’ 

Again Jenny’s face became suddenly flushed, and in a 
moment was pale again. ‘ Could her father,’ she thought 
to herself, ‘ allude to Mr. Price ?’ 

‘ A Bostonian!’ cried Helen, mockinglj", ‘ Oh, then, he 
must be a paragon of excellence ! Those Boston men are 
all so perfect !’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 365 

‘ He is a lawyer’ — Jenny’s hope fell in her thermometer 
of sensations sixty degrees in a minute — for HaiTy Price 
was not of the legal profession. ‘ A lawyer,’ continued 
her father, ‘ who has attained to eminence in the profes- 
sion very rapidly, and under circumstances full of credit 
to him.’ 

‘ Is he rich ?’ inquired Helen. 

* No,’ replied the Judge. 

‘ So much the better,’ rejoined Helen, * for Jenny has 
often said she would prefer a poor man. For my own 
part, I think a small fortune, say a hundred thousand, 
would suffice for me : Master Henry Price, for instance.’ 

‘ Better take Peter Yan Wart, who, I believe, loves 
you, my dear, better even than he loves his half million 
of dollars,’ said the Judge, folding up his napkin, and 
inserting it within a ring — ‘ With your taste for expendi* 
ture, Helen, you will disburse all his interest money, easily.’ 

‘ Yes, it would require all his fortune to suffice you, dear 
Helen, I know,’ said Jenny. 

‘ If I ever undertake to disburse it, rest assured I will 
make it fly !’ exclaimed Helen, with animation. 

‘ I do not want to thwart your afiectiou, my dear daugh- 
ter,’ said her father, ‘if you love another, but Mr. Yan 
Wart is in every respect fitted to make you a proper 
husband. Will you have him ?’ 

‘No, I will not,’ replied Helen, peremptorily. ‘He is 
well-born, rich, and educated, but he is not the man for 
me. He is too calculating. I want a man wi^h a soul 
in him I Yan Wart is superficial, and devoid of sentiment.’ 

‘I think you do him injustice. Certainly, it is true, 
that he Is a shrewd manager, and destined to be a mil- 


S66 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

lioiiaire, but that’s no unpardonable sin after all. If 
you discard him, which, out of the remaining baker’s dozen, 
w ill you take, my girl V 

‘The odd one, my dear papa,’ replied Helen, and tak- 
ing her parent’s arm, led him towards the oriel window’; 
for they had completed their breakfast, and Cato, who 
had been very remiss in his attendance, w’as just entering 
with the rolls. 

‘ I will take the odd one of this “ baker’s dozen,” as 
you style my little regiment of suitors, papa,’ said Miss 
Bogardus. 

‘And who is he ?’ inquired the Judge. 

‘ The last,’ replied Helen. 

Poor Jenny was listening with all her ears. ' 

‘ And the last V inquired the Judge. 

‘ Is Henry Price,’ replied Helen. 

‘ Do you think he loves you V inquired her father. 

* How can he help it,’ said the proud girl, laughing. 

‘What vanity!’ said the Judge. ‘Has he pro- 
posed ?’ 

‘ Yes, and backed it,’ replied Helen, ‘ with stronger 
oaths than you obtain upon that old book with the cross 
on it, in your Court-room I’ 

* And strengthened them, as we do on the book, with a 
kiss to every oath?’ said the Judge, archly. 

Helen drew herself up proudly, and with a flashing eye 
and a flush of pride mantling to her temples, as she 
answered, ‘ Ko, sir, not he, nor any living man, dare 
attempt such a liberty with me!’ 

Her father placed his finger playfully upon her pouting 
lips, as if to break, as he would a bubble, the scorn that 


THE. THREE APPRENTICES. 367 

(always budding among their roses) now, on the instant, 
had flowered in full. 

* You do not love Mr. Price, ^ said he. 

‘ Yes — at least, as well as I can love any man. I never 
saw but one of the sex that I really entertained a true 
aflfectiou for replied Helen. 

‘And pray who was he V inquired the Judge, with some 
curiosity. 

‘My own dear father!’ she. replied, proudly regarding 
his silvery locks, and noble, though aged countenance, and 
encif'cliug him with her arm. He pressed her tenderly to 
his heart, and imprinted a kiss upon her fair forehead ; 
then said, ‘ Be it as you will, my beloved child I I con- 
sent to your union with Henry Price, and doubt not he 
w'ill make you an affectionate and excellent husband.’ 

Poor Jenny! Alas, for thee! 

When, with moistened eyes. Judge Bogardus had con- 
cluded this brief but not unimportant colloquy with Helen, 
he turned from the window at which they had been con- 
versing in a low tone, and beheld liis younger daughter, 
still at the table, but bent over in a singular attitude, 
with her forehead pressed against the cloth. 

At the same moment, Cato entering the room, after 
another long absence, exclaimed, in a fright, as he beheld 
his young mistress, ‘ 0 de Lord I What’s de matter wid 
Miss J enny ?’ 

All ran to her aid, and found her apparently lifeless. 
She had fainted. Fresh air and other restoratives were 
immediately applied, and in half an hour the poor girl was 
sufficiently recovered to be removed to her room by her 
distressed father and sister. They little imagined the real 


868 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

cause of her illness, and she, upon her part, resolved never 
to divulge it. A frank confession would have saved her 
much subsequent pain, but she determined to overcome 
her ill-fated passion, and pray with all her might for the 
happiness of Helen and Henry Price, 


CHAPTER XLII. 

The Dinner at Judge Bogardus’s — Helen changes her Opinion of 
Edwin Fairbanks — The Jealousy between New York and Boston — 
General Jackson’s Administration, and the Statesmen of his Time 
— Singular interruption to the Dinner Party — ^Entrance of Scratch 
Gravel — He claims a Father. 

Finding all his efforts futile to obtain a pardon, or even 
a short reprieve, from the Governor of Massachusetts, 
Edwin Fairbanks had accompanied Kate to New York to 
.endeavor to elicit from the convict, Braxton, testimony to 
the innocence of Nathan. This was late in the autumn. 

Edwin had letters of introduction to several eminent 
men in New York, connected with the legal profession, but 
he had been in the city a week before presenting one which 
he had from the Hon. Richard Fletcher to Judge 
Bogardus. When he did so, he was received with great 
cordiality, and was prevailed upon to dine with the Judge 
on the following day. Meeting Judge Bogardus accord- 
ingly, on the succeeding afternoon, at his ‘ chambers,’ he 
accompanied him, in his carriage, to his princely mansion. 

Upon either side of the snow'-white marble steps, w’hich 
he ascended at the entrance, lay a life-size lion, innocu- 
ously absorbed in a hroiize study ; and the first object 


THE THREE APPRENT CES. 869 

attracting the eye upon entering the spacious hall, was a 
full length statue of Canning, upon a pedestal. Other 
indications of the wealth and liberality of its hospitable 
proprietor, were not wanting, even at the portal of his 
costly residence ; and when, with many a bow and back- 
ward step, the obsequious^ Cato ushered his master and 
his guest into a parlor, our young friend, unaccustomed 
to grandeur that threw even the princely residences 
of Beacon-street into the shade, felt that he could 
not sufficiently admire the exquisite taste which had 
guided the profuse expenditure indicated upon every 
hand. He had been a guest in parlors of parvenus in 
Boston, so crowded with showy furniture and garish pic- 
tures, that to his mind they seemed more like bazaars for 
the exhibition and sale of the productions of gilders and 
cabinet-makers, than apartments to dwell in ; but there 
was no appearance of any such wasteful and ridiculous 
excess in the mansion into which he was now introduced. « 
The beauty of it all was that every costly and ornamental 
thing in the room was made to appear actually useful, and 
exactly appropriate to its place — not a superfluity added 
for mere ostentation. 

It must be confessed that very few of those who have 
attained to great wealth, either by their own enterprise 
and personal ability, or by speculation and grinding the 
faces of the poor, possess the art of rendering their lavish 
disbursement for thfe interior decorations and furniture of 
their grand houses, so as to tell upon the spectator’s 
taste with any such pleasing effect. 

A soft mellow light from the shaded windows stole 
through the rich curtains, and seemed seeking to hide 
16 * 


370 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

itself in the green wood and forest aisles of :he rare old 
paintings on the walls ; or encountering Helen its rays ] 
fell reverently before the brighter glances of those magni- -j 
ficent eyes — at least so thought Edwin Fairbanks — as the j 
queenly daughter of his host advanced to greet her father’s j 
return. j 

‘My daughter, Helen, ^ said the Judge, cordially to 
Edwin. ‘ My dear, this is my friend, Mr. Fairbanks, of : 
Boston — already an ornament of the bar, and destined,^ j 
he added, with a smile, ‘ to be at the head of the profession, | 
even in the Athens of America.’ 

‘ Any friend of yours. Judge Bogardus, cannot fail of a 
welcome here,’ responded Helen, proudly ; and with a 
gracious air, not altogether agreeable to our friend, she 
beckoned him to a seat ; then turning to her father, com- 
municated the intelligence that ‘Miss Jane’ w^as suffi- 
ciently restored to appear at the table, and would presently 
descend from her apartment. 

‘Nay,’ said the Judge, ‘ I will go and see her. She is 
always so anxious to please her old. father, that she may 
endeavor to dine with us to-day, merely because I intimat- 
ed my wish to her this morning. In the meantime, my 
dear sir, you will excuse me. My daughter will entertain 
jou in my absence ; but take care, Helen,’ he added, with 
a roguish smile, and threatening shake of the head, as she 
followed him into the hall a little beyond the hearing of 
their visitor — ‘ take care, and not make yourself too fasci- 
nating 1 Remember that your chase is ended, and this is 
Jenny’s quarry I’ 

‘ Pshaw 1’ said Helen, pouting her pretty lips, ‘I hate 
these Bpstoa men!’ 


371 


THE THREE APPRENTICJ^ES. 

* Why so V said her father, with a light laugh. 

^ Because they look and act as if they breakfasted on the 
east wind, and took their heartiest meal from the shoulder 
blade of a sea-fog!’ replied Helen, contemptuously. 

‘ But you have chosen one of them,’ rejoined the Judge 
archly. 

‘And am already sick of my bargain, at only the 
thoughts of it 1’ she replied. ‘ Can this new man in the 
parlor go back a single generation, without stumbling over 
a lapstone ?’ 

‘ Helen,’ replied her father, with a sudden flugh of dis- 
pleasure, ‘high birth and ancient blood cannot make a 
man great ; if they could, you would have no fault to find 
with Mr. Van Wart. This young man — our guest, whom 
you neglect while lingering here — is one of nature’s own 
noblemen. A pretty republican you are!’ he added, with 
returning good humor. ‘ Go to him — go to him, my girl, 
and talk to him of your sister. Do you mind? She 
deserves just such a man, and I want him to like her? 

He uttered the last words significantly, and with empha- 
sis, although in a low tone ; and then ascended the wide 
and elegant stairway. 

Helen was at once amazed and shocked. The idea of 
seeking an alliance for her sister — seeking when she should 
be sought — as if it were not honor enough for a suitor 
from, the oldest and most aristocratic family, even to be 
admitted to that footing in her presence, as a speqial favor I 
And here was a new man — a man of to-day — a man con- 
fessedly without ancestral memories to give him prestige 
— coveted by her father, Judge Bogardus, as a husband for 
her sister I 


372 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

Flushed with mortified pride, and, for the first time in 
her life, ashamed of her sire, the haughty and foolish girl 
was in no mood to amuse their guest ; nor did she offer any 
apology, when she entered the room, for the rudeness of 
her absence from it. Quick to discern the emotions of 
others, Edwin Fairbanks saw, at once, that the J udge’s 
daughter felt abore him. It did not wound his vanity, 
for he had none, nor lower his self-respect, for he was con- 
scious of his own calibre, and knew that he was esteemed 
by persons of far more judgment than, at her age, she 
could possibly possess ; but he felt sorry for her father, 
and, perhaps, pity for her, that so fine a form should 
enshrine that vicious sentiment of the human heart, which, 
while it never lifted one bad spirit into heaven, has pulled 
legions of angels down. 

The glowing thought with which her presence had at 
first inspired him, cooled instantly upon her return into the 
parlor, and he treated her with as much reserve and 
indifference as was consistent writh politeness. If amazed 
before, she was astonished now, for her ear had become 
habituated to flattery from every gentleman — young and 
old — that approached her, and her eye to the aspect and 
gestures of admiration and deference. In her own mind 
she would have resolved him to be a low'-bred creature, 
ignorant and obtuse ; but his massive forehead, full, intel- 
ligent eyes, and gentlemanly address, told another story. 

She bit her lip (what novel would be a novel without 
somebody or other biting the lips?) and quite vexed, 
turned her attention to the street. After a few moments 
passed in silence, she turned to say a word, lest she should 
be amenable to the charge of absolute rudeness, and found 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 373 

him examining, with evident pleasure, one of the old 
paintings on the wall near him. 

‘ Are you a connoisseur V inquired Helen, and there was 
the slightest possible savor of mockery in her tone. 

‘No,’ he replied, ‘ only your men of elegant leisure, and 
ample means, can afford to be connoisseurs in these mat' 
ters — I have neither, but I admire the paintings of the 
old masters, and this battle-field is’ 

‘ Is of what school ?’ said Helen, abruptly interrupting 
him. 

‘ It is of the school of him who originated it,’ replied 
Edwin. 

Helen regarded this reply as a clever evasion. 

‘ Whom, sir, should you judge, was the painter ?’ she 
inquired, certain now that he would betray his igno- 
rance. „ 

‘ It is a Yelasquez, evidently genuine. I think there is 
no mistaking his style of coloring. What perfection of 
finish is here I’ he continued ; ‘the durability of Yelas- 
quez’ colors was always a matter of surprise to me. This 
painting cannot be less than two hundred years old, and 
yet. Miss Bogardus, it is as bright as ever it was ; and 
will still look as fresh, when your color and mine shall be 
the prey of the worms.’ 

The hardihood of the man! To talk of her fair cheeks 
becoming the food of the muck-worm I She was not used 
to such language. 

Such was her thought, but she said only, 

‘ That was a strange remark, sir I’ 

At this moment. Judge Bogardus came in, with Jenny 
leaning upon his arm. 


374 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

‘ Mr. Fairbanks,’ said the Judge, ‘ let me make you 
acquainted with my daughter Jane.’ 

A blush rose to Jenny’s wan countenance, as she 
advanced a step to meet Edwin, and extended her hand, 
for she remembered her father’s light speech in the 
morning. v 

^Now, my young friend,’ said the Judge, ‘you see all 
my family.’ 

‘ My dear sir,’ replied Edwin, looking with admiration 
upon the youngest daughter, whose hand was still within 
his own, ‘ I am much gratified at making this acquaintance.’ 

‘We are always so happy, sir, to see the friends of our 
dear papa!’ said Jenny, with a look of filial love at the 
Judge, and another of welcome for his guest. 

‘ Now, girls,’ said their father, ‘ take Mr. Fairbanks 
between you,%nd I will lead the way to dinner.’ 

‘ Thank you,’ said Helen, passing by Edwin’s proffered 
arm, ‘ I prefer to walk with my father.’ Dinner was 
spread in a spacious, high-studded room, in another wing 
of the house, where Cato, in a ruffle-bosom, a bright 
orange neck-tie, and a handsome suit of blue cassimere, 
half-concealed by a span-clean white linen apron, received 
them with a profusion of bows. 

Edwin Fairbanks had been accustomed to hearing grace 
before eating, and upon taking a seat at the table he 
inclined his head reverently, to listen to that brief and 
simple but beautiful and appropriate service. Judge 
Bogardus colored slightly (for though unaccustomed to 
the act, himself, his heart acknowledged its propriety), 
and requested his guest to ask a blessing. 

The latter complied. * 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 375 

‘ Our heavenly Father, we humbly thank Thee, that 
Thou hast preserved us in life and health, amid circum- 
stances of so much mercy and privilege, and hast spread 
these bounties before us : bless them, we pray Thee for- 
give our sins, provide for our spiritual wants, and finally 
save us through the mediation of our ever glorious 
Redeemer.’ ‘ Amen!’ audibly responded his host. 

While grace was being said, there entered a gentleman 
of medium size and age, with a rather sparse supply of 
soft, flaxen hair, very thin on the forehead, a fair and 
petite, but shrewd face, with very accurately-defined 
whiskers of limited dimensions, small keen blue eyes, a 
red, yellow and white Madras cravat, white vest, a costly 
diamond, and clothes and boots of the most fashionable 
arid faultless mode. 

Grace ended, this gentleman immediately came forward, 
and took a vacant seat at the table, as coolly as if he 
were one of the family. 

‘ Glad you have come. Tan,’ said the Judge, when the 
salutations were over, but hardly expected you to-day. 
My friend, Mr. Fairbanks, of Boston, sir ; Mr. Van 
Wart, Mr. Fairbanks.’ 

Edwin’s cordial bow was frigidjy returned by the new- 
comer, who suspected him to be another rival in the field. 

‘We now want only our worthy young friend, Mr. 
Price,’ said the Judge, ‘ to complete our company.’ 

Poor Jenny changed color, and her heart jpit-a-pat. 

* He, too, was a Boston man, originally, and some of 
us,’ continued the Judge, with a wink at Helen, ‘ feel 
quite an interest in him. Perhaps you have heard of 
him ? — Henry Price — his father a merchant.^ 


376 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

This was a pleasant surprise to Edwin, who remarked 
to his host that he had recently been introduced to Mr. 
Price, at the house of Giles Godwin, and was much 
pleased with his appearance. 

‘ Kot better pleased than we are, I assure you,^ said 
the Judge, with an arch look at his youngest daughter, 
* eh, Jenny?’ 

Jane’s cheeks were suffused with carnation, while her 
sister’s countenance remained unchanged in its regal com- 
posure. 

Van Wart’s little bright blue eyes, under the ridge of 
his nose, like ferrets peeping from a burrow under a hill, 
were fixed upon Helen’s face as if they would penetrate 
her thoughts. 

‘ She does not care for him,’ was the happy conclusion 
he arrived at ; and with an improved relish for his dinner, 
and a smile glittering along his perfect double row of 
little false teeth, he passed his soup-plate to the tall 
African, who, with his body deferentially inclined at an 
angle of fifteen degrees, stood ready to receive it. 

Edwin — quick as intuition to observe and draw con- 
clusions — glancing from Helen’s countenance to her sis- 
ter’s, and detecting the mounting color, instantly inferred 
that Henry Price w^as Jane’s suitor, and that her father’s 
sly banter was aimed at her. The Judge, on the con* 
trary, had not the slightest suspicion that Jenny enter 
tained for Harry any other than a sisterly regard, natu- 
rally inspired by the young gentleman’s fraternal attention 
to her. 

‘ It is a very ill-judged thing, in my humble opinion,’ 
said Mr. '.^an Wart, between the courses, in a tone that 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. ’ 37T 

spoke as plainly as words could have said it, that his 
opinion. was oracular, ‘Isay, Judge Bogardus, that in 
my humble opinion, it is a very ill-judged step that this 
young man. Price, has taken, in Cvstablishing himself in 
Commercial business in this city, at this unpropitious time.^ 

‘ In your o^inion^ said Helen, sarcastically. ‘ That was 
well put in.^ 

Van Wart colored, and rejoined, ‘With my experience, 
Miss Bogardus, your father will certainly place a higher 
value upon my opinion than you appear to.’ 

‘ How, sir, can you possibly know anything of the affairs 
of Mr. Price ?’ rejoined Helen, with dignity. 

A jealous frown gathered for an instant upon the nar- 
row brow of Van Wart, but as quickly disappeared. 
Both policy and politeness prompted him to conceal that 
he was nettled. 

‘ I know little about Mr. Price’s affairs, and care less,’ 
he said, ‘ but I am on ’Change daily, and from what I 
hear there, I believe his property has been overrated by 
report, and that in his purchase of the ship Falchion (and 
other investments of which I learn) he has gone beyond 
his depth.’ 

‘May I ask, sir, what is his “depth,” since you know 
so much ?’ said Helen, with a curl of her lip, ‘ or is his 
depth beyond you V 

‘ His property,’ said Van Wart, coloring again, and 
nettled, but not venturing to meet her eyes, ‘ is a small 
one, at the best — say sixty thousand dollars — but I am 
credibly informed that it does not exceed a moiety of 
that sum.’ 

Jenny thought to herself, that she wished he w^as worth 


378 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

still less. What a pleasure it would be to her to give 
him half her own fortune I 

lleleii felt annoyed, and said nothing, lest she should 
betray her feeling. 

‘ To vie, thirty or forty thousand dollars would appear 
amply adequate for a young merchant to commence upon,’ 
said Mr. Fairbanks. 

‘ It might do in Boston, sir, but not in New York,’ 
replied Yan Wart, dryly. ‘This is a city — Boston a 
village.’ 

In reply, Mr. Fairbanks surprised the two gentlemen 
by his knowledge of commercial statistics, home and 
foreign, and a comparison of the shipping and commerce 
of Boston with those of New York. 

Then followed some discussion of the Indemnity Bill, 
which, after a hard-fought contest, had been passed by 
the French Chambers, a few months previous, and the 
conduct of President Jackson, in regard to that measure, 
in which Judge Bogaruus was so deeply interested, that 
he was delighted to find Edwin thoroughly informed upon 
international and commercial law, and foreign politics, as 
well as our home policy ; for (entertaining a sanguine 
hope that he should yet have him for a son-in-law) he 
looked forward to many pleasant conversations with him 
upon similar topics. Some of the most remarkable men 
of the age were then in Congress at the very zenith of 
their greatness — Adams, Webster, Clay, Calhoun, Ben- 
ton, Cass, Buchanan — these, and other master-minds were 
contending upon that national arena, for the triumph of 
their respective parties, and their votes and speeches were 
read with an interest almost peculiar to the reign of that 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. STO 

man of iron will — Andrew Jackson. Helen Bogardus 
sympathized thoroughly with her father in his interest 
in the stirring political phenomena bf that memorable 
l)eriod, and being an enthusiastic admirer of certain pro- 
minent statesmen, and their oratorical displays, she lis- 
tened with marked attention to the eomments elicited by 
the Jutlge from Mr. Fairbanks upon their recent speeches. 
Observing this, with inward pleasure, less on his own 
account than because he was considered there as a sample 
of the city which liad been depreciated both by her and 
the wealthy Van Wart, Edwin did his best to complete 
the radical change which he saw had already commenced 
in her mind respecting him. Possessing a remarkable 
memory, and accustomed to the mental exercise of analys- 
ing the Congressional debates, he could speak fluently 
upon the topics at that time absorbing public attention. 

The iced wnne and brandy of the dessert lent no glil)- 
ness to his tongue, for he drank none, but he repeated 
with singular fidelity the most important and eloquent 
portions of speeches lately made by the great statesmen 
of the time, not merely to illustrate their several posi- 
tions upon the w^eighty questions then before Congress 
(and which, a few months afterwards, shook the credit 
system to the centre), but to show, also, their several 
modes of thought and argument, and style of oratory. 
In doing this, he warmed as he proceeded, became absorbed, 
appeared entirely carried aw^ay with his subject, and (to 
Helen’s enthusiastic imagination) became himself assimi- 
lated with the mighty minds which he had brought so 
vividly before his surprised and delighted audience (for even 
Van Wart, with all his frigid selfishness, was betrayed 


380 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

into an expression of pleasure), and the regal beauty 
declared that he would always be associated in her mind 
with Henry Clay and Daniel Webster, whereupon Van 
Wart knitted his brows an instant, involuntarily, and 
remarked, that the best imitations of Randolph, Websteir 
and Clay, that he had ever heard were by Mossie, but 
he, poor fellow, had ruined himself with drink. 

‘ But, sir,^ replied Edwin, coloring at the ungenerous 
slur conveyed in the rich man’s remark, and filling his 
glass with ice-water from an elaborately chased and mas- 
sive silver pitcher, * as I am a temperance man, perhaps I 
may be fortunate enough to escape the untoward end of 
that unfortunate mimic 1’ 

‘You are no mimic, my dear friendl’ cried Helen 
warmly, and darting at her wealthy suitor a look so sur- 
charged with electricity, that he felt the shock, though the 
thunder did not follow — Harry Price coming in just in 
time to prevent the explosion — ‘ Mr. Van Wart would 
give half his wealth if he could imilate you !’ * 

The last sentence was uttered in a lower tone, and an 
admiring gaze at Edwin’s noble countenance, while the 
rest were receiving Henry Price. 

‘ Henry,’ said the Judge, ‘ here you see another friend 
from Boston !’ 

‘ Is it possible ?’ cried Harry ; ‘ Mr. Fairbanks I I am . 
rejoiced to see you !’ 

‘The pleasure is reciprocal, then,’ said Edwin, and 
shook the proffered hand, cordially. 

‘ Miss Helen,’ said the ingenuous Harry, blushing to the 
temples, ‘ excuse me I I did not overlook you. I trust 
you are well V 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 381 

[But, gentle reader, look at the Judge’s younger 
daughter I To adopt the lines of the old poet, with a new 
reading, one might well say, — 

Prithee why so pale, poor Jenny? 

Prithee why so pale ? 

If when looking well won’t win him, 

Will looking ill prevail ? 

Prithee, why so pale ?] 

‘ Excuse you for what ? for first greeting your friend, 
our guest,’ replied Helen, to Henry’s apology, ‘ an excuse 
is superfluous. Don’t stand there twirling your thumbs, 
man, but sit down !’ 

‘ Have you dined, Henry ?’ inquired the Judge. 

‘ Yes, sir, with my new captain, on board the Falchion,’ 
replied the young ship-owner. The company now rose 
from the table. 

‘ Freights are ruinously dull, now,’ remarked Van Wart, 
maliciously, as he laid down his napkin. ‘ What voyage 
do you propose for your new craft, Mr. Price ?’ 

‘ Don’t tell him,’ cried Helen, putting her little jewelled 
hand upon Harry’s mouth. ‘ It is none of his business, 
and he is a malignant.’ 

This was done playfully, but not without a scornful 
glance at Yan Wart, of whose offensive inuendo, aimed at 
Edwin Fairbanks, she had a much more lively remem- 
brance than of her own impoliteness to the same gentle- 
man at the beginning of their acquaintance. 

‘ Henry,’ said the Judge, ‘ will you take a glass of wine 
before we adjourn to the parlor ? But I forgot 1 you 
never indulge. You and my dear Jenny, here, would do 
to go together.’ 


382 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, 9 R 

^ I will take Mr. Fairbanks’s arm, then,’ said* Helen, 
suiting the action to the word, and blushing almost as 
deeply as her sister, at her pretended misconstruction of 
the J udge’s rgnark. 

‘ Ha, ha, ha !’ laughed their father quite heartily, for 
the wine, and Edwin’s eloquence, had exhilarated him 
beyond even his usual good-humor, ‘ I meant that they 
would do to go together in their total abstinence I But 
how is it, Helen, that you, who like to sip a little wine 
occasionally, have paired off with a temperance man V 

His daughter was just retorting, as she led off with 
Edwin, when suddenly, they were all startled by an out- 
cry, by the servants, in the hall, and some running to and 
fro. The next moment, Cato appeared at the door of the 
dining-room, dragging forward ferociously, by the collar 
of his shirt, a jacketless little urchin of the meaner sort. 
All stood back in surprise. 

‘ What does this mean V exclaimed the J udge. 

‘ A entry-thief, Massa !’ replied Cato, fully occupied in 
preserving his hold, for the boy squirmed like an eel to 
get away. ‘ Cotch’d him in de hall.’ 

‘ Let alone of him, Cato, do 1’ cried Jane, imploringly. 

‘Please no. Missus,’ replied the perspiring waiter, ‘1 
had hard work enough to cotch him ! He must go to de 
Tombs.’ 

Suddenly, the lad jerked himself away, at the expense 
of leaving a fragment of his shirt in the grasp of Cato, 
and running to Mr. Van Wart, who stood near the table, 
seized him by the hand and arm, and clinging thus, almost 
spasmodically, cried piteously, — 

‘ Oh, sir, don’t let them take me to the Tombs 1’ 


T^E THREE APPRENTICES. 383 

It was little' Scratch Gravel. For a wonder, his shirt 
and puny little face were quite clean. The zealous Cato, 
after smoothing down his ruffle, advanced a step, shaking 
both head and fist, as if to take him ; whereupon the boy, 
quick as lightning, seized a carving-knife from the table to 
defend himself. 

‘ Put down the knife!’ said Yan Wart. 

The boy dropped the weapon implicitly, crying at the 
same time, 

‘ Yes, sir, I will, but don’t yous let them take me to the 
Tombs, please sir?’ 

‘And why should I not ?’ inquired Yan Wart, sternly ; 
and pushing the cowering boy from him, he brushed his 
fine blue broadcloth sleeve, as if it had been soiled by the 
suppliant’s touch. 

‘ Why not, sir ?’ replied Scratch, tenderly, and look- 
ing his interrogator full in the face, ‘ ’cause sir — ’cause I 
hdieve yous is my — my father P and seizing again the hand 
of the thunder-stricken Yan Wart, he bathed it with his 
tears. 

If the poor, half-clad little boy, upon his knees before' 
him, had been a bomb-shell at his feet, the wealthy nabob 
could not have been more astounded. Judge Bogardus 
and Helen shouted with laughter. Jane and the young 
men looked on in sober astonishment, curious to see what 
should next happen. Cato and the servants marvelling 
at ‘ the little blackguard’s imperence,’ echoed the mirth 
of their master. 


884 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

The Foundling and his Father — The Wild Oats sown, and no Bam 
for the Crops — Cupid catches a Rara-Avis. 

‘ For God’s sake, sir,’ e:xclaimed Yau Wart, irreverently 
to Judge Bogardus, ‘shut the door on those noisy niggers 
of yours I And take this dirty little scoundrel away 
from me.’ 

Cato and the servants were accordingly e::cluded, and 
the J udge went forward to remove the lad, who, shrinking 
from his grasp, still clung to the unwilling and chagrined 
Yan Wart ; crying at the same time, in the most implor- 
ing accents, 

‘ Father — father — father!’ 

‘ He must be a thief, and this only a ruse to appear 
crazy!’ said Yan Wart, equally perplexed and irritated. 

‘No, no, no!’ protested little Scratch, vehemently, ‘I 
ain’t no thief. I know’d yous was here, sir, and I slipped 
in when that gen’l’mun there (pointing to Henry Price) 
came in to yous. I didn’t crib nothin’, sir,’ he added, 
addressing the Judge, who now had his hand under one 
of the boy’s arms, to lift him up from his kneeling posture, 

‘ and I didn’t want nothin’ — nothin’ but my — my father? 

‘ Let go of my hand, you precocious little villain I’ 
shouted Yan Wart, trying to shake him off. 

‘ Oh, be my father ! Please, sir,« be my father, sir !’ 
pleaded Scratch Gravel, clinging to him like a leech, * I 
am your chile — I knows I am. Have pity, mister, on the 
poor little babby that was washed ashore, an’ his mither 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


385 


was drownded I I ain’t had nobody nor nothin’/ he added 
plaintively, ‘to take care o’ me never since. I slept on 
the door-steps at night, or under the stalls in the market, 
and sometimes had suthin’ to eat, and sometimes I didn’t, 
and sometimes I like to freeze to death, an’ sometimes I 
wished I had, an’ nen I sold papers, an’ to-day I got 
stuck, ah’ now I want yous to do the clean thing, and own 
up (oh please do, sir !) that yous am my father I’ 

‘Dog I’ cried Yan Wart, now very angry, and gave the 
boy a kick, that knocked him backwards on the floor. 

‘ Shame I’ exclaimed Edwin, at this cowardly act, while 
the Judge raised the youth to his feet. Helen, retaining 
her hold upon Edwin’s arm, kept him at her side. 

Little Scratch Gravel’s countenance, when he arose, 
had undergone a thorough change. His face was now 
white with anger, his fists clenched, his jaws firmly com- 
pressed together, and his little eyes sparkling with indig- 
nation. Confronting Wan Wart with a look of mingled 
threatening and defiance, he said, 

‘ If yous won’t do the clean thing by me. I’ll make 
yous ! I’ll have the law on yous. I’ll advertise yous in 
the Sun and Herald. I’ll tell everybody I Here, look 
at us, old ’un, yous is a Judge, and sometime or ’nuther 
may have the sentencing me to be hung — ^look at us two! 
Don’t we look alike ? Don’t I look like him ? I leave 
it to anybody herel’ 

As they stood there, side by side, both pale and defiant, 
there was certainly a singularly close resemblance between 
the nabob and the newsboy. 

‘ Pshaw 1’ ejaculated Yan Wart, contemptuously, and 
tugging nervously at his linen wristbands, ‘ What a farce I’ 

11 


386 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OB 

It’s in two acts, then, and the second ain’t come on/ 
retorted Scratch Gravel, who was as conversant with 
theatrical terms as any gentleman there, ‘ J ust look at 
this ’ere, some on yous,’ he continued, producing from his 
pocket a small oval piece of ivory, * but don’t take it out 
o’ my hand any on yous ! It is his likeness.’ 

He extended his hand to the ladies with the picture in 
it. They examined it with interest, and uttered exclama- 
tions of surprise. ‘It is very singular,’ said Helen, 
regarding Yan Wart with suspicion. The gentlemen 
looked at it ; the original meanwhile dumb with vexation. 

‘Mr. Yan Wart,’ said the Judge, ‘was this picture 
stolen from you 

‘ He shan’t have it,’ said Scratch, quickly clapping it 
into the pocket of the veritable pantaloons, which had once 
afforded John Hard so much amusement, and laying his 
other hand over it on the outside, as if he feared they 
would take it from him by force j ‘ I’ll bet my life he 
shan’t !’ 

At length he was prevailed upon to show it to Yan 
Wart in the same manner in which he had exhibited it to 
the others — hugged in the hollow of his little red and 
begrimed right hand — and then only upon the pledge that 
no attempt should be made to take it from him. 

‘ How ridiculous V said the gentleman, haughtily, and 
yet not entirely without curiosity, as the boy advanced 
towards him with the picture. Taking a gold-rimmed 
eye-glass from his vest pocket, he looked through it at 
the alleged likeness. In an instant the glass dropped^ 
from his hand, and his face, lately white with anger, sud- 
denly became red as scarlet. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 381 

* This miniature is mine P he exclaimed, in amazement, 
and, almost involuntarily, clutched at the boy’s hand. 

‘No yous don’t!’ cried Scratch, and, quick as wink, 
replaced it in his pocket. ‘ How yous like the farce, sir?’ 
he inquired, sneeringly, ‘ P’raps it will be a melo-dram’, 
hey ?’ 

‘This picture,’ said Van Wart, stammering somewhat, 
as he addressed the company, ‘ I can explain. This pic- 
ture, set in gold and emeralds, I have had for a number 
of years locked up, with numerous other trinkets, and 
relics of by-gone days, in a private drawer in my secretary, 
from which, therefore, it has evidently been stolen.’ 

‘ It’s a lie,’ cried the boy, boldly ; ‘ this picture was 
found in my poor mither’s bosom, when her body was 
washed ashore, arter she had drownded hersel’, an’ thought 
to drown me, too — a little mite o’ babby. But a feller 
that’s bound to be hung,’ he added with a bitter chuckle, 
‘ wan’t born to be drownded, yous all knows.’ 

‘ A hardened villain, so young !’ said Van Wart, endea- 
voring with all his self-control to conceal the emotion which 
the newsboy’s statement had excited within his selfish heart. 

‘ If yous had been kicked about the Five Pints as I’ve 
been, ever since I floated ashore, yous ha’ been hard, too, 
an’ now that yous ha’ kicked me, I’m harder nan ever ;’ 
said Scratch, knitting his little brows, ominously. ‘ I’s 
hard enough for anything. I want to tell yous ; I seen in 
the melo-dram, at the Bowery, that when the rich Barouit 
back’d down from his promise to marry poor Clara, and 
make his home hern and her child’s, and she tooked pizen, 
her little babby growed to be a real smart robber, like 
Dick Turpin, and saved the old Baronit’s life when some 


388 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR j 

o’ the gang had waylaid and was a-going to kill him, j 
Horatio — that was the son — made hissel’ known to the ] 
Baronit, with tears in his eyes, an’ was hugged to his ) 
bosom, and the old file owned up he was his rightful heir! 

An’ so I come ter yous. I seen yous often afore, but never > 
had a -good chance, though I’ve foUered yous many a time, 
and run arter yous carriage every day for a month past. 
Last night it was so cold, I didn’t want to sleep out-doors, 
an’ I went to Judy’s cellar, but Jock had come home - 
drunk, and they had a fight, and he half-killed her, and 
she was taken off ter the Slarter-house — that’s the Hos- 
pital— and her door was locked up ; so I crept 
into a sugar-hogshead, down in front o’ the sugar- 
hoose, and staid there all night, dreaming o’ ridin’ in j 
yous splendid coach, — ^but on runners, for I thought the \ 
snow was on the ground, until a hog stuck his rooter J 

into my face, and woke me up, and I was half froze. But j 

'I ’termined to see yous if I could, that werry day, where- 
somever I might find yous, and tell yous what a good boy 
poor little Scratch would be, and how I would love yous, 
if yous would only bees sorry for yous sin to my mither, 
and put clean clothes on me, and shoes — my feet were ) 
very cold this frosty mornin’, sir !’ — and sen’ me to school, ^ 
like the boys I seed with the green bags and the books in 
’em. I seed a hundred or more on ’em come pouring out of 
a school-hoose to-day, and a-lookin’ so happy, and all went 
to good homes ; but I hadn’t got no home, nor no books, 
nor no nothin’ (only some papers I got stuck with to- 
day), and there’s nobody to care for me when I’m sick, ' 
and nobody’ll cry when I’m dead.’ 

The poor lad, who had appeared a moment before so 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


389 


impudent and wicked, now looked like a child again, and 
the tears trickled down his diminutive face. 

Every heart, save the father of the illegitimate boy, 
was moved with compassion. While Scratch was talking, 
Tan Wart, more confounded than he had ever been in 
the whole course of his life, was endeavoring to recall his 
presence of mind in order to hit upon some method to 
relieve himself from his embarrassing position. He had 
never before been aware of the fate of the girl whom he 
had abandoned, and only knew that, enraged at his refusal 
to marry her, she had suddenly disappeared, he neither 
knew nor cared whither. Many years had passed, and 
he had almost forgotten her. He had forgotten, too, that 
a few weeks prior to her departure, he had lent her his 
miniature, but he now recollected it, and thought — with 
a shudder — that it was possible that this urchin was her 
child — and his! But should he acknowledge it? No, 
no, no : it would cover him with disgrace. His name was 
like the motto upon his ancient family crest, ‘ sans peur 
et saTis reproch ^ — fearless and irreproachable. He had a 
reputation for scrupulous exactness in all his dealings, and 
/ punctilious observance of the etiquette and refinements 
of high life. And, now, should he suffer this living relic 
of an ‘ early indiscretion’ to come forward, and ruin all ? 
No ; he resolved to ‘hush it up’ before the dreaded 
Herald should get hold of it, and proclaim it to the world. 

When the boy had done speaking, Yan Wart beckoned 
Judge Bogardus aside, and said to him, in a tone not 
audible to the rest, 

‘Judge, this is manifestly a carefully-considered conspi- 
racy to extort money from me. Older heads than this 


i 


390 ITEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

impudent little blackguard are the instigators of this 
plot, and it is possible that he himself has been duped. I 
am determined to ferret it out, and severely punish the 
guilty. I will find means to make this boy confess who 
are his confederates.* 

‘Let them be gentle ones, then,* rejoined the Judge, 
* for I do believe that this yopth is innocent of any evil 
design in his appearance here to-day.* 

‘ They shall be gentle,* replied Van Wart. ‘ I will take 
him to my house, treat him kindly, and with the bribe of 
a suit of clothes, or something of that kind, induce him 
to betray his accomplices.* 

This appeared reasonable to Judge Bogardus, and 
entirely relieved his mind of a lurking suspicion that there 
was some truth in the lad*s story. 

‘Come, sirrah,* said Yan Wart, to Scratch Gravel, 
'* go, get into my carriage, at the door, there. 1*11 take 
you home with me.* 

Scratch could hardly believe his own ears. 

‘ Take me home with yous ? Let me ride in yous car- 
riage ?* he stammered. ‘ Do yous mean so V 

‘ Yes,* replied Yan Wart, with ill-concealed disgust, ‘ I 
want you to go to my house, and tell me all you know.* 

Poor Scratch Gravel hardly knew, in his delight, 
whether to dance or cry for joy ; so he did a little of both. 

In the meantime, the judge had communicated to the 
rest of the little party Yan Wart’s alleged purpose in 
taking the boy with him. 

‘ Go, sirrah,’ said the latter gentleman sharply to 
Scratch, and pointed to the door. Then turning to Helen, 
he said. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES, 391 

* Miss Bogardus, tliis will entitle you to a further expla- 
nation/ 

^ I should think so I’ she replied haughtily. ' And/ she 
added, in a lower tone, intended only for his ear, ‘ have a 
care that you do that cliild no harm V * Boy,’ said she 
to Scratch, who with a very gratified expression, was 
passing out, ^ You may come to the basement door, to- 
morrow, and ask to see Miss Helen Bogardus. And do mt 
fart uith the fidn.re.^ * 

This was not at all satisfactory to Yan Wart, but he 
did not dare to resent it, for he loved the proud beauty 
with all the affection that he was capable of feeling, and 
he still h^ped to win her. 

‘ Let tkis boy ride on the box with you, John,’ said he 
to his coachman. ^ Stay, I’ve chaiiged my mind, Wil- 
liam (he addressed his footman, who in green and gold 
iiverj was letting down the steps of the coach), put him 
on the front seat, there. And mind and sprinkle some 
cologne there, when he gets out.’ He then stepped in 
himself, blushing deeply, and the carriage was soon hurry- 
ing ti rough Broadway. 

Edwin Fairbanks had drawn his own inferences from 
th^ scene which has just been hastily described, and 
so, he believed, had every one present ; but he saw, also, 
thbt while all appeared full of the subject, each felt 
reserved in the expression of any opinion upon it ; and 
ht thought fit to leave them to their cogitations and with- 
diaw. 

With a profuse e.xpression of pleasure at his visit, 
aid the exaction of a promise that he would call agjiin 


892 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

on the following day, or the next day at the farthest, 
Ji:uige Bogardns and Helen — the latter all glowing 
with color and beaming with sunny smiles^ — suJffered him to 
depart. 

The haughty girl had at length found another man to 
love besides her father, and upon coming to the parlor 
where poor Henry Price awaited her return from the door- 
steps, to which, contrary to etiquette, she had followed 
Mr. Fairbanks, she treated him with an indifference 
amoimting almost to contempt. 

Entirely exhausted by the excitements of the day, and 
unable to witness with composure Henryks attentions to 
her sister, Jenny Bogardus had retired to prar for the 
mutual happiness of the lovers, and obtain some repose ; 
her father had retired to his study ; and hence Mr. Price, 
left without any resource but to converse with his arbi- 
trary mistress, soon discovered that a very beaitiful 
woman could be a very disagreeable companion. 

Perceiving that his room was manifestly more desrable 
than his company^ he presently took his leave — shll in 
blissful ignorance that the proud girl who condescended 
merely to wave her hand to him, in response to his adieux, 
as much as to say * there, that will do ; you have said 
enough ; now go,’ had that very morning expressed to ler 
father a preference for him, and a willingness to becone 
his wife. 

When he had gone, Helen sat alone, and in a brown 
study for some minutes with her eyes fixed upon tie 
painting of the battle-field by Telasquez, even afttr 
the descending shadows of evening had veiled it fron 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 393 

her view. In truth, she looked without seeing. An 
object in her mind occupied all her senses, and she saw 
nothing else. 

‘ J ust such a man,’ she soliloquized, as she arose to 
leave the parlor, ^just such a man, with less moral great- 
ness, must Daniel Webster have been, when he was of his 
age I’ 

Did she mean Harry Price? No, nor the famous 
Velasquez; but a certain gentleman, whose comments 
upon that picture about two hours previous (she now took 
shame to herself), she had treated with contempt. ‘ Was 
she in love V she put the question to herself, and walked 
up and down the room several times, endeavoring to ana- 
lyze the new and strange feelings which had entered her 
heart without knocking, at least, not until they had ef- 
fected admission. 


CHAPTER XLIY. 


Braxton’s Life in the Tombs— John Hard in Prison— Tom Braxton 
consoles hhnself with Tom Paine. 

Let us now glance back over a few of the last 
months in Braxton’s miserable existence, subsequent to 
his trial. 

Days and weeks had passed away : precious days and 
1 * 1 * 


394 x^EW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

more precious weeks, to a man whose days and weeks 
were uumbered I At length, Toni Braxton had been 
brought up for sentence. In the meantime, our tall 
friend, John Hard, had seen a vast deal of life in the 
metropolis, but had made no impression upon the asrassin — 
failing to obtain from him the slightest admission of his 
own guilt in the matter of the incendiarism and arson, 
of which Nathan Mudge had been erroneously convicted — 
and when called upon to say why sentence should not be 
pronounced against him, the convict had given a lying 
account of his own life ; charging Nat with having led 
him astray often, and induced him to accompany him with 
a lantern, when he fired the house of Giles Godwin in 
Boston. After having asseverated to this diabolical false- 
hood, with evidejiit satisfaction, he had heard with equa- 
nimity his sentence to be hung on the fifth of December 
following, and retired gloating in his own mind upon the 
revenge he was taking. But, in the solitude of the cell 
to which he was consigned, with three murders upon his 
conscience, as food for reflection, and not a drop of rum 
to drown it in, even the thought of his revenge could not 
allay his internal torture. His imagination was disturbed 
as much, perhaps, by what he had heard and read of the 
mental sufferings of other murderers, as by any compunc- 
tions indigenous to his own brain ; and, from feeling, that 
according to human experience, traditional and written, 
he ought to be haunted by the ghosts of his victims, 
though he tried lustily to bluff it off, he soon began to 
fancy hideous faces peering out of the dark corners of 
his dungeon — and sometimes familiar faces, worse than 
the others — and all day long he would cling to the gra- 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 395 

ting of the door, with his face pressed against the bars, 
and his eyes gazing through to catch a glimpse of some- 
thing human. 

Daylight was brief in his prison, for he occupied an inte- 
rior cell, commanding only a view of a portion of a nar- 
row hall, and one or two cells opposite his own. Kight 
came on soon and suddenly. How he dreaded it I The 
rats had free access to his dungeon, and, as soon as it 
began to be dark, he could see their dusky forms flitting 
like shadows, across the dark, slimy floor. He dreaded 
to lie down upon the bed provided for him, not because 
it was coarse, dirty, and hard — his vagabond life had 
accustomed him- to that — ^but for the reason that, as soon 
as he closed his eyes to sleep, his wife, Eunice, with his 
child in her arms, would come and sit down at the foot to 
watch, and the murdered D’Orsay, with a step so slow as 
to render the movement almost imperceptible — always 
appearing to advance, but never reaching him — would 
emerge from his corner, gazing incessantly upon him. 

Of course, these were only the wild fancies of a dis- 
tempered imagination, but to the guilty wretch it was as 
bad as if it were reality. With straining eyes, fixed upon 
the vacancy which he had peopled with these shadowy 
forms, he would lay through the long hours of night, in a 
cold sweat, palsied with fear, and wishing for morning. 
Occasionally, more reckless, he would break the dread 
silence of night in the Tombs with fearful maledictions 
upon Eunice and D’Orsay, and leaving his couch, grope 
around by the stone walls, and strike at the shadows 
The first rays of light that entered his dungeon in the 
It* 


396 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OB 

morning, though never at an early hour, was almost as 
welcome as a glass of liquor would have been. 

For several weeks following his sentence, Tom was visit- 
ed by no one except an attendant and Mr. Hard. John 
loathed him, and it made him feel awfully, he said, to see 
so many human beings caged up like wild beasts, too dan- 
gerous to be let loose in society, but he felt it his duty to 
elicit from him, if he could, a confession clearing Nathan 
Mudge of the crime of arson j and for this purpose he 
went almost daily to the city prison (nicknamed because 
built in the architectural style of the ancient Egyptian 
houses of the dead, ‘the Tombs’), and the solitary prisoner 
was always glad to see him, for the reason that any mor- 
tal face was a relief from the fearful visions in his cell. 
To draw him thither, he would promise at each visit, in 
answer to John Hard’s entreaties, that if he would come 
again, he would ‘make a clean breast of it,’ but when 
the time came he would either refuse to reveal anything, 
or annoy him with some story evidently forged for the 
occasion. 

‘ Now, what in natur’s the use,’ John exclaimed on one 
of these occasions, ‘ of .yer stuffin’ me up with a pack o’ 
pesky lies, and you here, within an inch o’ yer life ?’ 

* And within a week o’ my death,’ added Tom, with a 
reckless smile. ‘ If it hadn’t been for you I shouldn’t 
have been here.’ 

‘ If it hadn’t been for rum, ye mean,’ responded the 
countryman. 

‘Well, you’re abput half right,’ said Braxton, with an 
oath, ‘ though I had been drinking Iratidy, that night ; 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 89t 

but what is brandy but red rum ; and what is red rum, 
spelt backwards, but murder V 

‘ Jerooshyl^ exclaimed John, repeating the letters upon 
his fingers, ' so it does. Well, that's curious.', 

‘ If the idea is worth a dram, smuggle in a pint o' white- 
eye or whisky to me, to-morrow,' said Tom, facetiously. 

* And see here,' he added in a whisper, ‘ bring me a small 
vial of aquafortis and a watch-spring ; will yer V 

* 'No sirr,' replied John, firmly, 

‘ Why not ?' inquired the prisoner, persuasively. 

* 'Cause I won't,' replied Mr. Hard ; ‘ I won't touch to I' 
Braxton used many more entreaties, but in vain, and, 

becoming enraged, he applied to our astonished friend all 
the opprobrious language, both profane and obscene, that 
he could command — and his vocabulary was a large one. 

*Well,' said John, drawing a long breath when Tom 
stopped, *Ye got a grist off your stomach, that time, 
didn't ye ? Why it's enough to kill all the rats in the 
prison 1 I've heern people talk before as if they were 
born and raised in a common sewer, but such a stack o' 
real cholera language as ye've got, I never saw the beat 
on! I wonder it don't puke ye!' 

^ Don't go!' cried Tom, dreading to be left alone, and 
really sorry to see John Hard leaving him, 

^I must,' replied John, who had walked away a pace 
or two : * Ye've given me the ear-ache and the heart- 
ache, too!' 

' * Anything more ?' inquired Braxton, with a sneer. 

* Yes, a mortal sickness to the stomach,' replied John. 
And this was literally true. He felt both the ache and 
the nausea. 


398 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

* Come again, to-morrow,' said Tom, coaxingly ; ‘ Yer 
the only friend I’ve got in this world 1’ 

' And what friend have yer got in the other V said 
John Hard, seriously. 

^ There ain’t no other,’ replied Tom sullenly ; and then 
brightening up, he triumphantly added, ‘ Come here, and 
let me tell yer what Tom Paine says about that humbug. 
Did ye ever read his Age o’ Reason ?’ 

‘ No, nor I don’t want to !’ replied John. 

* That’s because yer afraid to see how he rips up yer 
old-fashioned doctrine,’ said Tom, with another oath. ‘ Yer 
ought to hear Abner Kneeland pick it to pieces!’ 

* ’Tain’t no use bearin’ him, nor readin’ Tom Paine,’ 
rejoined John Hard. ^It never did, and never can do a 
bit o’ good, to meddle or make with the pesky varmints. 
The Bible says a tree shall be judged by its fruits. Jfow, 
neighbor, what are the fruits of Atheism V 

‘ If you mean that i’w one on ’em,’ replied Braxton, 
threateningly, ‘ I’ll — ’ but without waiting for a reply, 
John had walked away. 

* Send me a plug of tobacco, and a parson I’ shouted 
the felon, after him, with a laugh of derision that was 
echoed by prisoners in other c Ils ; ‘ I want tb talk to him 1’ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


399 


CHAPTER XLY. 

The Visit to the Charity Hospital— More Rum Doings — The Tombs, 
and the Appeal to the Murderer— Little Biddy in Bad Company— 
The course of True Love not always in Navigable Order — A Cure 
for Pride — The Novel Eclaircissement. 

To say that Edwin Fairbanks did not have more 
thoughts respecting Helen Bogardus, than he communi- 
cated to Kate Mudge, upon his return to her at their 
hotel, would not be ingenuous. He was not oblivious of 
her magnificent beauty and intellectual refinement. Of 
her wit, too,he had had evidence (although we have not sam- 
pled it for the benefit of our readers), and from her manner 
during the extraordinary scene with the newsboy, he had 
not failed to infer, that though devoid of the gentle grace 
and loveliness of her sister, she was not without one of 
the noblest qualities of the heart. On the whole, he 
thought that if it were not for her overweening vanity, 
and intense pride, he should value her friendship very 
highly. 

Kate, engrossed with her anxiety respecting her hus- 
band, listened to his description of the dinner at Judge 
Bogardus^s house, with no interest whatever, until he spoke 
of the entrance of the newsboy, and his ascription of 
paternity to the millionaire. ‘I know that boy,’ she 
.exclaimed, with animation ; ‘ I heard his story weeks ago, 
when in New York before, and from the mouth of that 
very woman, Edwin, whose child was burnt in Cross-street, 
some years ago. You will remember I went to her house 


400 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

with aunts and Susan and my poor Nat, long before we 
were married/ 

'I remember Judy,^ replied Edwin. * Does she live 
in New York V 

‘Yes, and miserably enough; at the Five Points. I 
did not tell the folks at home about my visit to her 
wretched cellar, and my stay there all night, lest they 
should fear that I was not safe to trust alone in this bad 
city.^ She then related to Edwin the occurrences in 
Judy^s basement, upon the night when the poor woman's 
mother died. 

The conclusion arrived at by both from this exchange 
of information respecting Scratch, was, that it was Mr. 
Yan Wart's duty to make immediate provision for his 
education and support. 

‘But I forgot,' said Edwin, ‘to say the boy told us 
that the woman, whom he called Judy, had been nearly 
murdered by her husband, in a fit of intoxication.' 

‘ When was this ?' cried Kate. 

‘ Yesterday, or the day or night previous,' replied 
Edwin ; ‘And she was taken to the Charity Hospital. 
Do you know where that is ?' 

‘ Perfectly well,' replied Kate, springing to her feet ; 

‘ Shall we go to her V 

Edwin assenting, a few moments sufficed for Mrs. Mudge 
to put on her cloak and hood, and they were soon on their 
way to the Charity Hospital. 

This excellent institution is located in Broadway, and 
its 200 feet depth of verdant grass plat in front, is like an 
oasis in the dusty desert of the great thoroughfare. They 
were admitted by the gate-keeper, but upon inquiry within 


the three apprentices. 401 

tlie edifice, learnt that the poor woman had died in the 
morning ! Jock, her husband, had been arrested, and was 
in the Tombs. 

‘ The poor creature had a little girl named Biddy,^ said 
Kate, sadly, to the attendant. ‘ Do you know what has 
become of her V 

‘ She is in the Tombs, detained as a witness,^ was the 
reply. 

‘ It is a shame to keep the poor child there I’ said Kate, 
* I will see her to-morrow, after visiting Braxton’s cell.’ 

‘ Here we have another instance of the horrible results 
of rum-drinking,’ remarked Edwin Fairbanks, as, arm-in- 
arm, they emerged from the Hospital. ‘ How wide-spread 
and continual is the diabolical influence of that vice I’ 

Kate heaved a deep sigh, for how sorrowfully could she 
attest to the bitter truth of the remark ! 

Passing several saloons, brilliantly illuminated, and re- 
splendent with mirrors, pictures, and marble counters, at 
which crowds of old and young were pouring down their 
throats the ‘ liquid damnation,’ contained in the elegant 
cut-glass decanters, the two friends arrived at their hotel. 
A throng of boarders and waiters was gathered upon one 
of the landings in the hall, around the body of a stranger 
— a guest in the house — who, in attempting to descend 
the stairs, while tipsy, had fallen over the balustrade and 
broken his neck. It was subsequently ascertained that 
the man was an artist of celebrity, but addicted to intem- 
perance. Many will remember poor C — e. He had 
painted numerous admirable portraits both in New York 
and Boston, and for a long time had had no superior in 
that department of art. 


402 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

On the following day, Fairbanks and Mrs. Mudge 
visited the Tombs prison. The autumn had passed, and it 
was now quite upon the verge of winter. In a few days 
the black machinery of penal death would be erected 
again in the sombre yard, where, conducted by John Hard 
to the cell of the wretched man, Kate and Edwin walked 
over the spot on which his gallows was to stand. 

They had come to appeal to Thomas Braxton, by every- 
thing that honest hearts could offer, to relent ^in his use- 
less cruelty against poor Nat, and confess that he, him- 
self only, was guilty of the crime, of which, upon presump- 
tive proof alone, that innocent man had been convicted. 

Tom, receiving them with curses and reviling, laughed 
at their manifest distress, and swore (with oaths, made 
intentionally more horrible, because he well knew how the 
best feelings of the heart revolt at profanity), that Nathan 
Mudge should suffer the same fate to which Kate had 
been instrumental in consigning him. Edwin Fairbanks’ 
disgust with the wretch, was mingled with indignation 
against the person who had supplied him with enough 
intoxicating drink, it was very evident, to arouse his iras- 
cibility and revengeful nature ; and when he passed out 
with Mrs. Mudge, through the Sheriff’s office, he spoke of 
it to that functionary, who assured him that it was con- 
trary to the rules, but could not always be prevented. 

Before leaving the prison, however, they asked to see 
Biddy, Judy’s little girl, who was kept incarcerated, in 
order to be forthcoming with the more certainty, when 
wanted as a witness. Males are excluded from the female 
department at the Tombs, on account of the indecent lan- 
guage and manners which their presence would elicit from 


, THE THREE APPRENTICES. 403 

the depraved women imprisoned there, but Kate was per- 
mitted to enter and converse with Biddy. She found her 
in the midst of the most detestable characters and influ- 
ences ; which, however, did not appear to give her any 
pain. Poor child 1 Ihvo years in the Five Points had 
accustomed her to the worst associations. But she was 
distressed at the death of her mother, she said, and had 
nearly cried her eyes out, because not allowed to roam 
the streets day and night, as she used to. Mrs. Mudge 
left her, promising to do what she could for her relief, and 
wdth feelings of inexpressible disgust (heightened by the 
insulting gestures and expressions used for her annoyance 
by several vile females), hurried out of this wing of the 
prison. 

^ On the morrow, Helen Bogardus awmited impatiently 
the coming of Edwin Fairbanks, but in vain ; he passed 
the entire day with Mrs. Mudge and John Hard. 

* Hope deferred maketh the heart sick,’ and there w’as 
a certain pensive anguish pining wdthin the fair bosom of 
the proud Helen, wdien evening came and brought with it 
no Edwin. 

Mr. Price had called and gone away again, with the 
three little lying words, ‘ not at home,'' buzzing in his ear, 
like an impertinent blue-bottle, until he became as mad as 
a hornet with his own thoughts. Jenny, who, w'ith a 
world of sighs, had been watching for his coming, at a 
Venetian blind, without being observed by others, saw 
him depart, disappointed, from her father’s door ; but, 
though the tears stood like pendent diamonds upon her 
eye-lidS', the pain of seeing him leave without one little 
inquiry for her, who loved him as her proud sister never 


404 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


conld, was not (she confessed to herself, with some sense 
of shame) nnmingled with satisfaction at Helen's present 
coolness towards him. It was a selfish feeling, she knew, 
but how could she help it ? She had a great mind to con- 
fess all to Helen, beg her forgiveness, and get her to add 
her entreaties to her own, that her father should allow her 
to visit that delightful city, Philadelphia, where she had 
friends, and pass the approaching winter there, for the 
improvement of her health. 

She shrank from the confession, it is true ; it would 
touch oppressively upon the finest and most sensitive 
chords of her existence — but naturally of an ingenuous 
nature, and never before having a secret that she cared 
to conceal from Helen, she resolved now, after a brief 
struggle, to confide to her the only important one that 
she had ever had in her life, and relieve herself from a 
"certain indefinable sense of guilt, which had weighed upon 
her heart ever since she had become sensible of the exis- 
tence of her hopeless passion for the lover of her sister. 

Accordingly, when the two sisters had retired to the 
bed which they shared together, . and the same darkness 
which reduced the rich fm’niture of the apartment, and 
the luxurious couch upon which they lay, to the level of 
the humblest bedroom in the land, veiled her countenance 
from the eyes of the uneasy and restless beauty by her 
side, Jenny put her arms around Helen's neck, and kissing 
her affectionately, again and again, and shedding many 
tears, made the intended confession. And why did Helen 
mingle her tears with Jenny's, and press her cheek to her 
own, and sigh with such unwonted tenderness? Was it 
only from affectionate compassion, or had she become bet* 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


405 


ter able than formerly to sympathize in ‘ these love affairs^ 
which once used to provoke only her witty ridicule? 
Nous verrons, 

*If Harry Price , only loved you, my dear Jenny, how 
happy you would be I’ said Helen, kissing her sister very 
tenderly, and with a change of names, and a deep sigh, 
silently applying the same remark to her own languishing 
heart. 

‘But he loves you, dear sister,^ replied Jenny, with 
another flood of tears, ‘ and who can blame him V 

‘ I don’t care a straw for him, though,’ rephed Helen. 

This answer thrilled Jenny with joy ; but it was only 
momentary, and she remarked very sorrowfully, ‘ Alas I 
that will not make him love me ! I have no beauty, 
Helen, like you, to attract love ; why was I given a heart 
to be tortured by it V 

‘ Beauty like mine,’ said her sister, with another pro- 
found sigh, as she thought to herself how strange it was 
that Mr. Fairbanks had not repeated his visit, ‘ beauty 
like mine is only superficial, and soon palls upon the taste 
of a true man : you are really a thousand times more 
loveable than I am, Jenny!’ As she said this, her bosom 
heaved with emotion, and her eyes were again a fountain 
of tears. She longed to be as frank as her sistei, and 
reveal her new-born passion, but pride sealed her hps; and 
^e only said, ‘ Harry shall love you, Jenny ; and will, as 
soon as he discovers that the hhart he now seeks is already 
another’s.’ 

‘Is it possible?’ exclaimed her sister, almost incredu- 
loasly— ‘ No longer ago than yesterday, you told father 
that you would accept of Mr. Price’s offer.’ 

‘ I had iiot then seen IMr. Fairbanks,’ were the words 


406 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

upon Helen’s tongue, but she shut her mouth, and swal- 
lowed them ; substituting the remark, that a woman had 
a right to change her mind. 

Both of the young ladies had been so engrossed during 
the day with their new train of reflections, that they had 
scarcely given a thought to the little newsboy, and as 
Judge Bogardus had been engaged until late at his law 
chambers, upon a reference case relating to a million and 
a half of Trinity Church property, it had escaped his 
attention, also, that little Scratch Gravel had not fulfilled 
his promise to call at his residence. 

On the following day, Edwin again visited thS Judge’s 
princely mansion. How different his reception by Helen! 
Where now was her haughty boldness, her proud reserve, 
her lofty affectation of superiority ? In their place.j were 
beaming smiles, heightened color, an earnest desire to 
please, some tremulousness and want of self-possession, 
and a terrible palpitation at the heart ! 

An English traveller, of middle age. Sir John Barrow, 
dined with them that day. Besides Mr. Fairbanks, there 
was no other company. Helen was glad of this. Not 
so Jenny. 

The Englishman was one of the right kind — educated 
and refined, yet bluff, cheerful, unostentatious, candid, and 
liberal. He had breakfasted many a time and oft, at the 
famous dejeuners of the poet Rogers, chatted with 
Macauley and Carlyle, heard Tom Moore sing his own 
songs, listened to Byron’s rattling witticisms, enjoyed 
^ ambrosial nights’ at Kit North’s ; and, in fine, had the 
run of all the prominent British genius since the advent 
of the present century. 

No man of his time was more thoroughly familiar with 


407 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 

the sea of English literature and all its currents and tri- 
butary streams, than Edwin Fairbanks ; and if he was 
entertained and delighted with Sir John’s graphic descrip- 
tions of British authors in their own homes or in society, 
the baronet was no less gratified at finding a young Ame- 
rican so entirely conversant with their writings, that he 
could draw upon them at will, from his own memory, for 
any quotation that seemed apposite. 

J udge Bogardus and the young ladies were well informed 
upon the same topics, and listened with pleasure to the 
conversation of their guests, but (shall it be confessed?) 
Helen regretted that Sir John prolonged the sitting into 
the evening, and that when the lights were brought in by 
the tall Cato, and the massive chandelier was illuminated, 
he was still talking and sipping her father’s rare old wine, 
with as much fluency as ever. 

Her regret margined upon mortification when, a few 
minutes afterwards, Mr. Fairbanks looked at his watch, 
declared he had an engagement at six, and took his leave. 

In the meantime, public interest in the expected execu- 
tion of Braxton was awakened by those diligent caterers 
to populfir excitement, of which every large community 
has its quota, and bulletins of his conditions of body and 
mind, including appetite, viands, remarks, sleep, &c., were 
published in the newspapers as often as twice a day. It 
was stated, among other things, that he had accepted a 
Roman Catholic priest as his spiritual adviser, and this, 
unlike many other things that were reported in the bul- 
letins, was true. He selected him for two reasons, viz. : 
first, because from the verge of Atheism his mind oscillated, 


408 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


like the notorious Brownson’s, to the extreme of ceremo- 
nial religion ; and second, because this man had officiated 
often in the- prison, and possessed enough influence with 
the keepers to obtain their permission for some of the con- 
vict’s former associates to visit the cell. He entertained 
a hope, too, that these visits might, with the co-operation 
of the priest, whom he believed he could bribe, be made 
instrumental to his escape. His plans were laid accord- 
ingly. 


CHAPTER XLYI. 

Kate Mudge alone with the Murderer — ^Her Entreaties in Vain — He 
offers Terms — His Plan of Escape — Baron Trench — Scene in 
the Boston Jail — ^Nathan’s Execution Approaches — He Prepares to 
be Legally Murdered. 

Upon the day previous to that fixed upon for the exe- 
cution of Braxton, Mrs. Mudge went to the prison to 
make one more appeal to his obdurate heart. Edwin and 
John Hard accompanied her, but, at her entreaty, remain- 
ed in the Sheriffs office, at the entrance, for she feared 
that their presence in his cell would only •^"'ud to aggra- 
vate his unrelenting nature. 

She found him far less morose and savage, than upon 
her former visit, but to all her entreaties he turned a deaf 
ear ; though he admitted, with a chuckle, that when he 
fired the old printer’s house, ‘ Xat had no notion of what 
he was up to.’ 

She importuned him in the most pathetic terms, to 


^HE THREE APPRENTICES. 409 

I allow of the admission of a notary to write down his con- 

j fession, and take his affidavit to it ; but he replied, with 
a fierce scowl, that she must think him a fool, and if she 

I didn’t want to receive insult for insult she had better be 

II gone. 

* No, Tom Braxton, I will not leave you until you 
solemnly swear that you will confess before witnesses that 
you alone did it, and not my poor husband I’ 

i * I tell yer I was not alone. Nat was there to hold the 
light.’ 

j * But he did not know your purpose. You said, before, 

! that he did not know you were going to fire the house 1’ 

^ I didn’t say so ! or if I did, what odds V replied the 
felon, doggedly. 

^ Oh, my Grod !’ cried Kate, with a vehement gesture, 

* Make this man’s heart relent 1’ 

* Blast your praying,’ shouted Braxton, with a furious 
oath, and interspersing every sentence with his profanity, 

* Quit it, or get out o’ this, quick.’ 

^ Strike me if you will,’ cried Kate, kneeling before him 
upon the slimy pavement of the damp cell, ‘ Do anything 
to me, but I conjure you by all that you hold dear, confess 
and save my husband 1’ 

‘ I hold nothing dear but my own life, and that you 
think you have sacrificed’ (and he added in an undertone 
to himself), ‘ but you are mistaken I’ 

' Oh heart harder than the nether millstone T pity me 
— ^pity poor Nat who never wronged you — ^pity his wretch- 
ed sister,, whom you once professed to love I His death 

the death of an innocent man — what can it avail you V 

cried Kate, in accents that moved even him, as, prostrate 
18 


410 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

at his feet, she seized one of his hands with both her own, 
and bathed it with her tears. 

* Oh bother 1^ said he, in a milder tone than he had yet 
used, ‘ I never could withstand the fair sex. .Get up, 
Kate ; I will confess.^ 

‘Thank God !’ cried Kate, joyfully. 

‘ Thank the devil exclaimed the wretch, while a dark 
frown like a heavy cloud lowered upon his countenance, 
and he cast her from him. Kate shuddered, but still 
kneeling, besought him not to retract his promise. ‘ Say 
and do what you will to me, but remember your word!’ 

A diabolical thought flashed into that brain so prolific 
of evil, and raising Kate from her suppliant attitude, he 
retained her hand and gazed into her face. 

‘ Ah, Kate, who could resist you P said he. ‘ Never 
fear, my dear, I'll make a clean breast of it.’ 

‘ When V cried Kate. ‘ Oh let it be at once. Let me 
call in your friends. Let there be no delay I’ and in her 
eagerness she would have hurried out of the cell to obtain 
witnesses. The felon detained her with a strong grasp. 

‘ Not now,’ said he. 

‘ Oh do not delay it !’ she cried, imploringly. 

‘ Wait until to-morrow,’ said he, with a sardonic smile. 

‘ To-morrow V exclaimed Kate, with a cold shudder, ‘It 
is the day of your execution I’ 

‘ Is it V said Braxton, with the same smile (for he con- 
fided in his plan of escape), ‘I will confess, then, ujpon 
tlie gallowsP 

‘ Oh ! that wiU be too late — ^too late I’ cried Kate, 
greatly distressed ; ‘ My poor Nat’s cruel sentence is to be 
executed the following day, in Boston, and your confes- 


T'H E THREE APPRENTICES. 411 

sion would not reach there in time to save bim 1 Oh, 
Braxton, I implore you, confess to-day, while there is yet 
time to transmit the message thither, and prevent this 
legal murder 

In her eagerness, Kate laid her right hand upon his 
shoulder, and with supplicating looks returned his gaze. 
His eyes fell, and he replied that he would comply upon 
one condition. ‘ But,’ he added, with such a look askance 
at her as made her tremble, she hardly knew why, ‘ You 
will think it a hard one V 

‘ Nothing can be too hard,’ she replied, her own eyes 
I averted before the impassioned look which the demon fasten- 
ed upon her still beautiful countenance ; ‘ I would lay down 
! my life joyfully to save my husband from such a death I’ 

! ‘ I ask not your life, my darling,’ cried the felon, signi- 

ficantly, ^ hut your love P and suddenly drawing her to him 
before she could avoid him, he whispered something. Tear- 
ing herself impetuously away from him, with his foul breath 
still burning like noisome vapor from the depths of hell 
itself in her ear, Kate fled to the door of the dungeon, 
and pale with mingled loathing and indignation, beckoned 
to the attendant who stood on the outside. 

‘ Yer a fool,’ said Tom Braxton in a lower voice, as he 
heard the jailor lift the iron bar from across the entrance. 
‘ That is the only way in which you can save the life of 
your husband.’ 

‘ Demon 1’ murmured Kate, with inward horror and 
self-loathing at her contact with the monster ; and sick at 
heart, she pa-ssed through the narrow prison-hall, and by 
the turnkey’s office to the light and air of the street, where 
she found her friends, with a carriage, awaiting her. 


412 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

The attendant who had opened the cell for her egress, 
did not leave it when she did, but remained to converse 
with his prisoner. Their interview was of a very confi- 
dential nature, and at its termination, the fellow produced 
from a capacious pocket a bottle of brandy, which he left 
with Braxton, with a caution not to use too much of it, 
or he ‘ would ruin all.^ 

^ Never fear me,^ replied Tom, ‘ I have got too much at 
stake to make an ass of myself at such a time. Don’t got’ 
he added, glancing nervously around his cell ; ‘ This is a 
lonely hole I’ 

‘ Think of the hole you will go out at, and let that keep 
up your spirits I’ said the man, in a low chuckling tone. 
After a few more words had passed, the unfaithful func- 
tionary retired from the cell, and left Tom to the compa- 
nionship of the evil spirits of the bottle and the brain. 

Tom looked after him through the grating until he was 
no longer in sight, and then putting the liquor to his 
mouth, swallowed a huge draught, and hugged the bottle 
to his heart as if it were a darling child. 

Presently, he looked cautiously through the iron wicker 
of his door again ; then applied his ear to*the pavement. 
Apparently satisfied that no one was within hearing, he 
went to his wretched cot in the corner, and pulling it 
aside, knelt down and lifted, not without considerable 
difficulty, a heavy block of granite out of the stone floor. 
By this cavity, he succeeded in opening a passage large 
enough to admit his body into a drain through which the 
filth of the prison was conveyed beyond the walls. Such 
a stench of gas and other offensive effluvia ascended 
through the aperture, that the murderer was forced to 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 413 

cover his nose with his hand, as he peered into it, and 
wondered how such a swarm of rats could exist in an 
atmosphere so poisonous. 

‘ I shall lose every bit of breath in my body in that hor- 
rid hole if I am in it more than two minutes,’ he murmur- 
ed, with an oath, when he had replaced the stone and the 
bed. ‘ Faugh I It makes me gag I I must take a drink 
to settle'my stomach and he took another ‘ pull at the 
bottle.’ ‘ Ugh I That is good liquor,’ he added as he 
replaced the cork, and lay the bottle down on the bed by 
his side. * If Shucks is ready with the rope, and I can 
secure it to my foot, it won’t take him two minutes to 
snake me through. Success attend him I I’ll drink to 
that anyhow,’ Again he applied the brandy to his mouth, 

and chuckling, * Ha, ha I I’ll cheat ’em all, and be to 

them,’ fell back upon the straw, to obtain, if possible, a 
little sleep. 

When our friends in the coach had arrived at the hotel, 
Edwin left them and repaired to the residence of Judge 
Bogardus. Without speaking of the peculiarity of his 
interest, personally, in the critical position of Nathan 
Mudge, but merely as the quondam fellow-apprentice and 
present counsel of that young man, he had before revealed 
to his distinguished friend, the nature of his mission in 
New York. In the desperate state of the matter, now, 
he determined to ask his aid in a channel which he had 
hoped to have no occasion to use. 

The young ladies were abroad, and he was fortunate 
enough to find "the Judge alone in his study. He was 
cordially received, and at once, without any unnecessary 
words, explained exactly how matters stood, and how 
imperative it was to obtain Braxton’s confession. 


414 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

^ Command me, my dear young man, ^ said Judge Bogar- 
dus. ‘ What can I do for you V 

^ Braxton has turned Roman Catholic, or feigns to have 
done so,’ replied Edwin, ‘ and his spiritual adviser is a 
priest of that order ; but I distrust his integrity.’ 

* There are a multitude of sincere Christians among the 
Catholics, Mr. Fairbanks,’ replied the Judge, deprecat- 
ingly — ‘ I know, and respect their Bishop here, as among 
the most estimable of my friends.’ 

* That is precisely what I hoped might be the case,’ 
replied Edwin, joyfully, ‘ and now, sir, I want you to see 
the Bishop this evening, and state the case to him I’ 

* 1 will do it, sir,’ rejoined the Judge, heartily, and ris- 
ing — ‘leave it all to me.’ And with this assurance, 
Edwin took his leave. 

Now let us return from the guilty to the innocent 
felon — ^from the white granite prison in Centre-street, 
New York, to the blue granite jail in Leveret* street, 
Boston. Let us look into the more cheerful cell of poor 
Nat. There are only four days between him and the gal- 
lows. It is hard to die so young 1 In the flower of man- 
hood, in the full possession of his faculties, by sickness or 
accident, or even upon the battle-field, it is a bitter thing 
for a man to die ; with what horror and mental misery, 
then, must the felon, within a few days of his execution, 
prepare to have his life violently, yet with cool premedi- 
tation, wrested from him upon the deliberate verdict of 
his countrymen, that he is unfit to live 1 To be the shame 
of his family and friends, the shame of his city, the shame 
of his country, the shame of his racel To die, before a 
jesting and unpitying multitude, the death of the pirate 
and murderer ; to be a by-word and reproach even in the 


4 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 415 

mouths of the lowest of the low ; to be recorded in the 
history of his country,, as a guilty wretch, who died upon 
the gallows — a vile blot upon those pages, in which it had 
been his pride and delight to read of the noble actions of 
his patriotic ancestors — this was a thought inflicting infi- 
nitely more suffering upon Nathan Mudge than the fear 
of the physical pain of death by the fatal cord. It was 
worse even than the dread of that which men call ‘the 
leap in the dark’ — the loss of earth and the life to which 
even old age clings with untiring tenacity — th§^hange 
from the warm sunshine of vitality to the ‘ cold obstruc- 
tion’ of the grave. To a change of worlds, the doomed 
prisoner had become reconciled, through his faith in the 
promises of God. 

Yes, Nathan ‘ had found peace in believing.’ From the 
very hour of his arrest for a crime of which he was 
entirely innocent, he had meditated intensely upon his 
evil courses, and repented with a godly sorrow not to be 
repented of, for sins which he knew rendered him deserv- 
ing of God’s just wrath ; and for weeks and months he 
had been a truly contrite man ; daily searching the Scrip- 
tures for illumination, and imploring forgiveness for hiS 
past transgressions. In Christ’s glorious Sermon on the 
Mount, as recorded in the Gosoel according to Matthew, 
he had read with joy the precious promise, ‘ Ask, and it 
shall be given you ; seek, and ye shall find ; knock, and 
it shall be opened unto you.’ The parable of the Prodi- 
gal Son, which we are too apt to read without emotion, 
poor Nat watered with penitential tears, for he felt that 
in coming back to the piety of his youth, he, too, was 
returning to a kind Father who, when he was yet a great 


416 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OB 

way off, saw him, and had compassion, and ran and fell 
on his neck and kissed him. After that, he felt that the 
blessed Redeemer, who had received him back, was able to 
save to the uttermost ; and, in view of his approaching 
death, his spirit, recently so troubled,- rested confidently 
in, the promise ‘ that this corruptible should put on ihcor- 
ruption, and this mortal must put on immortality fully 
* persuaded, that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor 
principalities nor powers, nor things present, nor things to 
come, nor height nor depth, nor any other creature, shall 
be able to separate us from the love of €rod, which is in 
Christ Jesus our Lord/ 

The most indefatigable and untiring effort had been 
made by Giles Godwin, Edwin Fairbanks, and the 
unhappy wife and sister of the condemned man, to pro- 
cure a pardon. That failing, equally earnest and well- 
directed exertions were made before the Governor and 
Council to procure a commutation of the sentence, or a 
respite ; but aU to no purpose. His Excellency, a humane 
man, was deeply moved by the prayers and tearful entrea- 
ties of Kate and Susan, but he saw nothing to justify his 
fhterference with the execution of a sentence for which 
the people clamored. Despairing of success with the 
Governor, Kate, accompanied by Edwin, had hastened to 
New York to plead with Braxton for an efficient exculpa* 
tion of Nathan. Her repulse, in this quarter, has been 
alluded to. 

When the white-headed old man, Giles Godwin, with a 
heavy heart entered the cell to communicate to Nat the 
failure of their application to the Governor, the poor lad, 
agitated by contending emotions of hope and fear, grasp 


THE THREE APPRENT CES. 


417 


ing his hand in both his own, exclaimed, ‘ Oh, sir, do not 
tell me you have failed I You have succeeded, and there 
is yet hope for me, I shall not die upon the ignominious 
scaffold 

‘ Alas, my poor boy,’ was all Giles could say' and hug- 
ging Nat to his bosom, he wept over him, as if his heart 
would break. 

Poor Nat wept bitterly, too j for he had hoped even 
against hope. 

* Surely they will commute my hard sentence V said he, 
when he could command his voice. 

Giles shook his head, sorrowfully. ‘ They do not deny 
me a respite!’ cried Nathan, aghast. 

‘ Be calm, my dear son,’ said Giles, * and trust in God. 
The Governor refuses to stay the — ^proceedings.’ 

* Oh, my God 1 my God I’ cried Nat, ‘ Am I then to 
die upon the gallows 1’ and in the agony of his spirit, he 
wrung his hands, and walked about his cell restlessly. 

* My blood be upon their heads ; I am an innocent man 1’ 
he exclaimed; then added more firmly, and with solemnity, 
as he paused in front of the old man, * Sir, when they 
have deprived this frail body of the life which they can- 
not restore again, and have sated their thirst for the 
blood of an innocent man — when too late to remedy the 
judicial murder, I shall be proven guiltless of the abhorred 
crime for which I shall have suffered a shameful death. 
Oh, vindicate my memory ; and as widely as they have 
bruited my alleged crime, blazon my innocence! And 
tell Edwin Fairbanks to devote his talents to expel from 
the courts the murderous custom of condemning men upon 
presumptive evidence. 


13 * 


418 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

* I will/ replied Giles, ‘ but do not despair yet, my dear 
child. Edwin and Kate may effect something with that bad 
man, Braxton I (Nathan shook his head incredulously.) 
He is to be executed on the fifth of December. That is 
next Friday. In the last extremity, he may confess, in 
time to save you, my poor boy.’ 

‘ I will not delude myself again, with a false hope/ 
replied Nathan, calmly. ‘All the days of my appointed 
time will I wait till my change come.’ 

‘ Still, let us pray for your deliverance,’ said Giles : and 
the two men knelt in prayer. 


CHAPTER XLYII. 

The Fate of Easy Nat Determined on by the Executive and Council, 
and Approved by the People — Painful Interviews upon the Morn- 
ing of his Execution. 

In the meantime, Nathan and his sister and friends, 
were awaiting in suspense, painful beyond the power of 
language to describe, the result of his wife’s mission to 
New York. They heard by letter from Edwin, daily, of 
the continued ill-success of Kate in her efforts to induce 
Braxton to make a confession, before competent witnesses, 
of his agency in the destruction of Giles Godwin’s house, 
and they had at length abandoned all hope of his testify- 
ing to the innocence of Nathan until his last moments 
upon the gallows. 

Both ?usan and Giles Godwin were untiring in their 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 419 

efforts to defer the time appointed for the execution of 
her unfortunate brother, as has been already narrated, 
but satisfied of his guilt, and thoroughly aroused by the 
frequency of incendiarism (unfortunately become so com- 
mon at that time as to be a terror to the inhabitants of 
Boston, Roxbury, Dorchester, and the neighboring towns) 
to the importance of vindicating the majesty of the law, 
the people were determined that this man, at least, should 
not escape the penalty which they conscientiously believed 
he had incurred ; and their Chief Magistrate, moved as 
he was by the sympathy for the unhappy man and his 
friends, felt convinced that it was his duty to let the law 
take its course. Still, the pain his Excellency felt at the 
necessity of rejecting the repeated petitions of the sister 
of the condemned man, urged with all the vehemence 
and pathos of a sister appealing for the life of a beloved 
^ brother, disturbed him exceedingly ; and it would have 
been no exaggeration to say, that among the least hap- 
py individuals in the old Bay State, at that time, was its 
Governor himself. He was a man of large scholarly 
acquirements ; a man of cultivated taste — remarkable for 
his statesmanship, but cursed witc a ielicate nervous sys- 
tem, and an exquisite sensibility — just the man to wear 
out his own life rapidly in the place he filled, as chief 
magistrate of a Commonwealth. 

The day appointed for Thomas Braxton’s death at the 
hands of the public executioner came and went, and no 
tidings of a confession — ^no tidings of his fate — to the 
anxious watchers In Boston. The telegraph had not been 
dreamed of in those days, and the most rapid errand 
must be borne by a human messenger. Relays of horses 


420 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


had been arranged by Edwin Fairbanks between New 
York and Worcester, where a locomotive was to be in 
waiting to convey the messenger to Boston. John Hard, 
who was to bear the intelligence, had the selection of the 
relays, and he remarked to Edwin that, ‘ if he could only 
count with half as much confidence upon that all-fired 
steam-horse, as he felt in the quadrupeds he had picked, he 
should feel a thunderin^ sight safer ; but he was no judge 
of the pints of that ere animal ; and he had a leetle rather 
run the last 45 miles with his colt — the best piece of horse- 
flesh that ever brushed the flies off.^ 

When he was told that the engine would go over the 
entire length of the road in thirty-five minutes, he ejacu- 
lated ‘ Jerooshy,^ with a whistle at the end of it, and 
allowed it would be best to station the colt at Newton, as 
the nearest point to the residence of the Governor. 

Edwin and Mrs. Mudge, it was arranged, were to fol- 
low, with evidence in duplicate of the confession if any 
should transpire, in the mail train, viz. ; by steamboat to 
Worcester, and thence by the cars to Boston, where in 
regular course they were expected to arrive two or three 
hours prior to the time fixed for the fulfilment of the fatal 
sentence. 

Nathan arose from his bed on the morning of the dread- 
ed day, just as the first beams of the sun came peering 
through the massive iron lattice of his window. 

‘ And is this,’ he exclaimed, with a sigh, ‘ to be the last 
day of my life ? The ground is shrouded with the snow 
that fell so fast in the evening, but the sun — O the glori- 
ous sun I — ^it never shone so delightfully before. I cannot 
realize that I am to die before it shall have reached its 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 421 

meridian, but God^s will be done I’ and kneeling, he pass- 
ed some minutes in earnest prayer for forgiyeness— for 
acceptance through Christ— for strength to sustain him 
like a Christian in the bitter ordeal through which he was 
to pass — ^for the pardon of his judicial murderers and his 
enemies, if any such he had — and for the blessings of the 
Almighty Friend of the widow and the fatherless, upon his 
wife and poor Susan. 

When he arose from his devotions, his sister was stand- 
ing at the door of his ceU. The keeper admitted her, and 
she was followed by Giles Godwin. Both were in tears, 
but poor ]N^at received them joyfully! * How kind in you, 
my dear, dear friends, and how happy I am to look upon 
your much loved faces, even upon the last day of my life I 
Nay, Susan, precious one,’ he added tenderly, ‘ do not 
weep. I have dried all my tears. I have no more to 
shed. I am prepared — ^yes, I am content to die — since 
God wills it so. You know He over-rules all things for 
the best.’ 

‘ Spoken like a true Christian, my dear boy I’ said Giles, 
grasping his hand ; and turning to Susan, he added, ‘ My 
child, be comforted. Compose yourself. It is our duty 
to encourage and sustain your brother. Nathan, did you 
rest any last night V 

* Oh, yes,’ replied Nat. ‘ I never slept better in my 
life. Sister,’ he added, drawing her to him, with his arm 
around her ; ‘ let me kiss away your tears I I dreamt 
last night of our dear mother. You know I have often 
done so of late, but the last was more happy than all the 
rest. Its sweet influence still pervades my soul, and I 
look my fate in the face calmly, and without a murmur.’ 


422 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

* Alas, my poor brother sighed Susan, and imprinting 

a kiss upon his pallid cheek, gazed fondly into his face. 

* Methought, that whem this terrible judicial error had 
been consummated, and the heavens were darkened as if 
with the Divine displeasure, the people rent the air with 
the shout that I was innocent I and in a moment a mes- 
senger, covered with the marks of hasty travel, appeared 
with a reprieve I but all too late, for I lay dead beneath 
the scaffold. The dark and lowering appearance of the 
sky above the multitude then struck them with awe and 
terror, and in a few moments all had fled from the place. 
I was thinking then, with dread, of the grave in which I 
was to be laid, when suddenly the sweetest strain of music 
that you can imagine the seraphs sing, thrilled me with 
ecstasy, and a flood of light bathed me in its glory. Turn- 
ing my wondering eyes to discover whence all this radi- 
ance and melody proceeded, I saw that the black and 
threatening sky had parted, and there was our mother, our 
own dear mother — ^in form of an angel, as she ever seemed 
to us, in spirit, sister, when on earth — beckoning me to- 
wards her I All at once I felt as buoyant as a bird, and 
with joy unutterable, rose through the air to her embrace. 
I dreamt she took me by the hand, and up, up we floated 
through the azure sky, peopled with angelic shapes and 
melodious with God^s praises, in which I joined, until full 
of rapture, I awoke.^ 

‘ It was, indeed, a blissful vision, but for what pre- 
ceded it I' said Susan, with emotion. 

‘ It is,^ said Giles Godwin, as he wiped away a tear, ‘ a 
heavenly employment to sing the praise of God. Men of 
the world undervalue it, but still they will pass hours in 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 423 

singing the glory of military and naval heroes, and politi- 
cal leaders, the mer^ ephemera of a day. How varied 
may be the strains, how innumerable the themes, of the 
songs of the redeemed in heaven ! I regard it as a delight- 
ful privilege to sing when other modes of worship are 
inadequate to the full expression of my feelings.’ 

‘ It elevates the soul above earth,’ said Susan, ‘ and 
sometimes when I sing with earnest Christian people, I 
lose all consciousness of external objects, and seem to have 
a foretaste of heaven’s joys.’ 

*And it is quite likely, dear sister, that I owe my 
nappy dream to the hymns you sang so sweetly before 
you left me, last night ;’ said Nat. * At what time will 
Dr. Jenks be here this morning, to administer the com- 
munion ?’ 

‘ At nine, replied Mr. Godwin. * Hark, what noise is 
that ?’ 

Susan, who stood near the grated window, looked out, 
and shrieking slightly, turned as pale as death, and clung 
to the iron bars for support. 

A glance into the yard showed at once the cause. 
Three men, under the direction of the jailer, were erect- 
ing the gallows. 

Nat breathed hard for an instant, then drew his sister 
from the grating, saying, * These are melancholy sights 
and sounds, dear sister I Come with me, and let us sit 
as far away from them as we can. Come, my kind old 
master, come, sit on my bed here, and let us sing some- 
thing.’ 

Until now, whatever may have been thought, no allu- 
sion was rhade to the snow storm of the previous night, 
and the consequent detention likely to have attended the 


424 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OB 

train from Kew York. Nathan feared to recur to it, lest 
it should renew his excitement and distract his mind from 
the peaceful contemplation of the life beyond the grave ; 
and for a similar reason his visitors had avoided the sub- 
ject. But his ardent desire to see his wife before the 
hour should arrive for him to die, rendered him more and 
more anxious every moment in respect to the probable 
impediments to the transit of Kate and Edwin from New 
York. Susan, too, without alluding to it, felt that she 
needed the presence of her affianced husband to sustain 
her in this crisis, and she was in an agony of suspense to 
receive the intelligence, which she still entertained a hope 
that he would bring to them. The good old man, Mr. 
Godwin, saw what was passing in their minds (if his eyes 
were only half way open) at that moment: and telling them 
so, frankly, he begged they would use no reserve at such a 
time; but communicate freely to each other the thoughts 
that were uppermost. 

* I know, my dear son, that you are anxious for the 
arrival of poor Kate.’ 

‘ Oh, sir, indeed you are right,’ replied Nathan, ‘and, 
yet, perhaps, it would be a providential favor if the heavy 
fall of snow, last night, should prevent her arrival to-day.’ 

‘Under ordinary circumstances, we might expect the 
arrival of the train from New York at eight or half-past 
eight, but the road must be greatly obstructed by drifting 
snow ; and this, too, has undoubtedly delayed the arrival 
of the special messenger whom Edwin Fairbanks was to 
have despatched yesterday with the intelligence of the last 
moments of Thomas Braxton. His arrival may be expected 
momentarily.’ 

The keeper, a humane man, then made his appearance 




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JOHN HAKD, RUNNING AN EXPRESS TO THE GALLOWS, 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 425 

at the door of the cell with food and drink for the pri- 
soner’s breakfast. Nathan glanced at the little clock 
which, at his request, had been placed in his room, and 
shuddered an instant at the thought that he had only 
three hours to live. ‘Time flies I’ §aid he, with a sigh. 
Susan’s glance had followed his own to the dial, and appre- 
ciating the full purport of his ejaculation, she turned to 
the window to conceal the tears which flowed afresh. 

‘ We have a carriage at the door,’ said Giles, ‘in which 
your sister and I will now proceed to the depot, for intel- 
ligence, and upon our return an hour hence, bring with us 
Rev. Dr. Jenks, and perhaps some better news than we 
have heard yet.’ 

Nathan acceded to this, and when they had departed, 
asked God’s blessing upon the last meal which he expected 
to eat, and sat down to his solitary repast. 


CHAPTER XLYIII. 

Shows how the Christian can meet Death, even though it be upon the 
Gallows — The Iniquity of Hanging upon Presumptive Evidence 
Illustrated — Scene at the Scaffold. 

At a little before nine o’clock, a Deputy-sheriff entered 
the cell, with a bundle in his hand, and after a few minutes 
passed in conversation, somewhat constrained upon his 
part, he revealed the portentous nature of his errand. He 
had brought to Nathan the dress which he was to wear 
upon the scaffold ; and he desired that he would say at 


426 ^ NEW e\ GLAND DOTS, OR 

what time he would prefer that the execution should take 
place. 

* Let it be at the latest moment possible/ replied Nat, 
very pale, but speaking with firmness. ‘ It will be a mur- 
der, sir, although a legal one, and the longer you defer it, 
the longer you will delay the shedding of innocent 
blood.» 

A reporter for the daily press overheard this remark 
from the position which he had taken on the outside of the 
door, and quickly jotted it down in the account which he 
had commenced of a ‘ Visit to the Cell of Mudge.^ Fur- 
thermore, he presently added to his notes that as soon as 
the deputy-sheriff left the prisoner, Giles Godwin entered 
the cell, accompanied by a clergyman and Susan Mudge, 
whose personal appearance he described with considerable 
accuracy, and then withdrew, regarding the scene as too 
sacred (he remarked in his report in an extra) to be tres- 
passed upon by a stranger. The same fluent writer stated, 
additionally, that upon passing out of the jail, the eye encoun- 
tered a multitude of people — men, women and children — 
occupying elevated windows, tree-tops, the roofs of neigh- 
boring sheds and buildings, and in short every spot avail- 
able for a view of the gallows, which had been erected in 
the prison yard. 

‘ Where is Kate ? Where is my wife V cried Nathan, 
with a disappointed look, as his friends entered. 

‘ The railroad is rendered almost impassable by reason 
of the snow, as we feared, and neither of the trains due 
from Worcester this morning have yet arrived,^ replied 
Giles. 

‘ My dear sir,^ said Nathan, grasping the outstretched 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 42’? 

hand of the clergyman, * Do you not pity me ? This sus- 
pense is dreadful V 

^Remember, my dear son,’ replied the minister — a 
small-sized, soft-spoken, aged man, of a very benevolent 
expression of countenance — ‘ the words of the Psalmist, 

WTiy art thou cast down, O my soul ? and why art thou 
disquieted within me ? Aope thou in GodP ’ 

‘ God help me I’ ejaculated Nathan, covering his eyes 
with his hand, to conceal the tears which he could not 
repress, ‘ It is not death I fear. Sir, but I did hope to see 
my wife once more I’ He was turning towards the win- 
dow, when, with a slight cry, Susan drew him back, and, 
embracing him, begged him not to go there. She would 
not have him see the dismal preparations in the yard below, 
and the jesting multitude of spectators, which had met her 
eye, and nearly caused her to faint with horror, on her way 
to his cell. 

The momentary silence which ensued was broken by the 
harsh voice of a prisoner, speaking through the grates to 
one in another cell. 

^ Say, Bill! Bill!’ 

* What yer want ?’ 

‘ Will he die game V 

* 'Noa, he won’t die game. He’s got a parson with himl 
Can you see the gallows ?’ 

^ Yes, with the help of my looking-glass.’ 

* So can I.’ 

The speakers then relapsed into silence. 

Nat overheard this brief colloquy, but without remark ; 
and, in a few moments, the aged clergyman administered 
to the young man and his sister, and Mr. Godwin, the 


428 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OB 

sacrament of the communion. Never was the solemn cero* 
mony more solemnly performed. It elevated Nathan 
above depression, and nerved him to meet with' calmness 
whatever might befal. Both the unfortunate convict and 
his sister possessed good voices, and the subjoined sacra- 
mental hymn was sung with touching sweetness ; 

“ The promise of my Father’s love 
Shall stand forever good ; 

He said — and gave his soul to death, 

And sealed the grace with blood. 

To this dear covenant of thy word, 

I set my worthless name ; 

I seal the engagement to my Lord, 

And make my humble claim. 

I call that legacy my own, 

Which Jesus did bequeth ; 

’Twas purchased with a dying groan. 

And ratified in death. 

The light and strength, the pard’ning grace 
And glory shall be mine : 

My life and soul — my heart and flesh, — 

And all my powers are thine.” 

More than one sacred song was sung, more than one 
prayer sent up from earnest hearts to the Throne of 
Grace ; and in Christian conversation and worship, the 
time passed rapidly to the little party in the cell. Not so 
to the expectant crowd without. To thtm it seemed an age. 

At eleven o’clock, the deputy-sheriff entered. ‘ Is the 
prisoner ready V he inquired respectfully. Susan turned 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 429 

ghastly pale, and hugging her brother to her wildly-throb- 
bing heart, kissed him a great many times, sobbing con- 
vulsively, meanwhile, as if her heart would break. 

‘ Officer,’ said Mr. Godwin, apart to the deputy, ‘ are 
your orders imperative, that he should be conducted to 
the scaffold at eleven o’clock ?’ 

* Such are my orders, sir,’ replied the man. 

* But, sir — ^njy dear, good sir I’ said Giles, in a tone of 
entreaty and remonstrance, and whispered in his ear. 

* You must talk with the Sheriff, under whose orders I 
act,’ replied the deputy. ‘ I have no authority. You will 
find him in the jail-office. Go and consult with him, and 
I beg (he added in an undertone) that you will take this 
young lady with you I’ 

^ Come, my dear Susan,’ said Giles, * come with me, and 
add your entreaties to mine, to induce the sheriff to post- 
pone this sacrifice of innocent life at least one hour longer 1’ 

' Then there still is hope I’ cried the poor girl. ‘Oh, 
how gladly will I go with you!’ 

With these words, she hurried from the cell, accom- 
panied by Mr. Godwin. 

The deputy-sheriff next proceeded to clothe Nathan 
with the white garb peculiar to those who suffer capital 
punishment. 

He then communicated to the clergyman Ijonfidentially 
that his suggestion to Mr. Godwin to speak to the sheriff 
was but a humane artifice to get the sister of the prisoner 
out of the way, and. save both the useless pang of part- 
ing. ‘ My orders,’ he added, ‘ are peremptory, to conduct 
the prisoner to the platform at precisely eleven o’clock. 
The time has arrived, and I must fulfil my painful duty.’ 


430 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

The clergyman informed the prisoner of the puri)ort of 
their conversation. 

‘ Come, my poor lad,^ said the deputy kindly, ‘ I will 
allow you an hour at the gallows.’ He then pinioned the 
prisoner’s arms behind him, and accompanied by several 
constables, and the sorrowful clergyman, the melancholy 
cortege passed down the prison stairs, into the yard in the 
rear of the jail, through a crowd of privileged persons 
connected with the press and public offices. Several of 
these individuals, formerly acquainted with Nathan Mudge, 
were permitted to converse with him, a few minutes each, as 
he stood beside the ladder at the foot of the scaffold, 
which had been erected upon the same spot where, a few 
months previous, five Spanish pirates had suffered the 
extreme penalty of the law ; and justly, for they had 
often imbued their hands in the life-blood of human vic- 
tims, compelling many a poor mariner to ‘ walk the plank,’ 
and the gallows was the due reward of their deeds ; but 
this man was innocent. 

He professed his innocence of the crime for which he 
was to suffer, but condemned his use of ardent spirits 
as having first reduced him to poverty and shame, and 
finally involved him with infamous associates and brought 
him to an ignominious end. Three or four of the number 
who conversed with him were the companions of his con- 
vivial life, and with these he talked with great feeling, 
indicated by his tears, admonishing them to take warning 
by his example, and abandon entirely the use of stimulat- 
ing drinks. He besought them, too, to consider well 
their ways, and to search the Scriptures daily for guidance. 
Presently he inquired for Gile*? Godwin, 


THE THREE^ APPRENTICES. 431 

More overcome than he had yet been, the old man came 
forward and grasped his hand, but was unable to say a 
word. 

* Has she not come yet inquired I^athan, in a low 
voice. 

Giles shook his head sorrowfully. 

* And are there no tidings V 

Again the old man signified a negative. 

‘And no hope of a reprieve V cried Nat. 

‘ Alas I my poor boy,^ exclaimed Giles, and sobbing like 
a little child, he hugged Nat in his embrace. 

‘ Where is Susan V inquired Nathan. 

‘I left her in the jailor's office, with my sisters,' was 
the reply. 

‘ Farewell, then, my kind old master I' said Nat, with 
suppressed emotion, ‘ Tell my poor wife when she comes, 
that I humbly ask her forgiveness for the poor return I 
made for all her early love and sacrifices for my sake. I 
thank God that she has no children to be disgraced by my 
shame. Bear this kiss to her, and this, and this! and 
tell her that my last thoughts were of her. Say farewell 
for me to your sisters. And Susan, poor Susan!’ take 
this to her as my dying remembrance! It was my dear 
mother's Bible. My mother! Oh, that name recalls 
sweetly back to mind my dream. Farewell, dear sir, fare- 
well, until we meet in heaven!' 

With these words, he embraced the weeping old man, 
and with a serene countenance and firm step, ascended 
the gallows. 

He was followed by the clergyman, and the Sheriff and 
his assistant. After a few minutes' conversation with his 


432 


NEW ENGLAND DOTS, OF 


spiritnal advisers, inaudible to those below, he stepped 
forward to address the spectators. 

Hereupon, a disgraceful rush was made by a portion of 
the outside multitude to the long, huge cedar-post fence, 
already sustaining a spectator upon every picket, to get a 
better sight of the prisoner’s demeanor in his last moments. 
A cry that the fence was falling, made still, more confusion 
for a few moments, but it soon subsided. 

‘ My countrymen,’ said Nat. in a clear, sweet voice, 

* Before God and man, I am innocent of the terrible crime 
for which you take my life this day. A fatal chain of 
circumstantial evidence is against me, but it will fall to 
pieces when I am dead, and you will do justice to my 
memory. But oh, I plead with you to do more. Many 
an innocent man, like me, has fallen a victim to presump- 
tive proo^ — never, I beseech you, let it occur again, in 
your community! never convict a man of a capital offence, 
unless upon the most positive testimony! Thomas Braxton 
fired the dwelling of Giles Godwin. With the grave 
yawning to receive my dishonored body, and heaven ready 
to receive my immortal spirit, I do solemnly affirm that 
he only was guilty of that crime for which I am this day 
to pay the penalty. Still, I forgive the jury and the 
judges, and you (to the crowd), and you, sir [to the 
Sheriff] , who are to execute this sentence. I bear no ill- 
will to any living soul [here his voice faltered a little] and 
I hope no one will bear any ill-will to me, when I am dead.’ ] 
He then knelt in prayer with the clergyman. Mean- 1 
while, the spectators, pale with the excitement occasioned ' 
by his words and manner, read in each other’s face a new- ^ 
bom conviction of his innocence ; but what could they ^ 


1 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


433 


do? No one there had authority to stay the summary 
proceedings. 

When Nathan arose from his knees, he affectionately 
bade adieu to the pastor, and calmly informed the Sheriff 
that he was ready, Giles Godwin walked to and fro, 
wringing his hands, and endeavoring in vain to keep his 
eye averted from the gallows. 

' It is murder, murder, nothing short of murder he 
exclaimed, grating his teeth, and clenching his fists so 
hard that the nails pierced the flesh. But for his instinc- 
tive reverence for law and authority, he would have rushed 
to the scaffold to interfere ; and it required all his self- 
command to restrain himself fi’om doing so. 

Calmly and hopefully, the poor lad sang the beautiful 
verse so expressive of the placid resignation of the dying 
Christian. 

‘ Gently, my Saviour, let me down 
To slumber in the arms of Death ; 

I rest my soul on Thee alone. 

Until my last expiring breath.* 

The Sheriff and his assistant were scarcely less excited, 
as they placed the prisoner upon the trap-door, and pinion- 
ed his legs to prevent his struggles when the fatal drop 
should fall from, under him. Nathan’s face was as white 
as the new-fallen snow, but he was entirely calm. The 
agony of death — even such a death — ^had passed I 

In adjusting the noose around the prisoner’s neck, the 
assistant, trembling sol that he was scarcely able to stand, 
performed the duty with such obvious awkwardness, that 
the indignant throng of spectators in the prison yard, mur- 
mured audibly, * shame I shame V 
19 


4B4 NJsiW liiiN GLAND BOYS, OR 

There was, too, a groan and a few hisses. 

The black silk cap, customary upon such occasions, was 
then drawn over the prisoner’s face by the Sheriff himself ; 
but at the request of the prisoner it was removed again for 
a moment, and with the rope still around his neck, the 
unfortunate man addressed himself once more to those who 
had assembled to see him suffer the extreme penalty of the 
law. The heavens had become overcast, and all nature 
seemed as hushed as the multitude. Amid the solemn . 
stillness, in which there was no sound louder than the 
hard beating of a thousand hearts, Nathan’s clear firm 
voice was heard audibly, even by the hundreds of men and 
boys who had climbed by means of piles of lumber on the 
outside, to the top of the fence of cedar posts, twenty feet 
high, which set close together, walled in the prison-yard 
on the north-east side. 

* Surely, no one within the sound of my voice’ (these 
were his words), can believe that in this extremity — about 
to appear, as I am, before the judgment seat of God — I 
would defile my immortal soul by a lie ! Again, then, I 
solemnly protest that I am innocent. Thomas Braxton 
committed the crime for which I am now to die. Fare- 
well I Farewell, Giles Godwin ; farewell to all. Now 
sir,’ he added, in a lower voice to the Sheriff, ‘ I have no 
more to say. I am ready. Lord Jesus, receive my spirit I’ 

‘ Amen 1’ said the clergyman, and with hands clasp- 
ed, knelt upon the platform. 

The black cap was quickly re-adjusted over the prison- 
er’s face. ‘ Mother, I come !’ murmured Nathan. 

The Sheriff put his hand into his bosom to draw forth 
the white handkerchief which was to be the signal to his 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 435 

deputy beneath the scaffold to pull the rope attached to 
the drop. 

A loud shout rending the silence, and thrilling all hearts, 
stayed the movement of the officer, and his hand fell to 
bis side. 

* Pardon — pardon — far don P was the cry, — a single 
voice, and distant, but stentorian. And that voice was 
John Hard’s 1 

. A thousand glad hearts took up the glorious word, and 
echoed it to the skies. At the same moment, the press 
of a multitude, wild with excitement to prevent the execu- 
tion since a pardon had arrived, burst open the huge 
wooden gateway to the prison yard. The cap and the 
rope were instantly removed from the prisoner by the 
Sheriff, rejoiced to perform the grateful office, and the 
astonished Nathan, bewildered and amazed, looked 
around him for the cause of this sudden interposition. 

A dark bay horse, covered with, foam, came rushingon, 
— ^his nose thrust straight out,' his ears lying back, his 
long tail, like a locomotive’s smoke, in a horizontal line 
behind him, his belly almost touching the earth — bearing 
John Hard himself, hatless and coatless, with knees high 
as the pommel, his body bent forward, and all of his long 
hair, except the inveterate cowlicks, blown back like 
streamers in a stiff breeze. John had cast off every weight 
that could impede the progress of the noble animal which 
bore him fleetly over the heavy snow-covered track, liter- 
ally annihilating space, as with straining eyes, swollen 
veins, and dilating nostrils, he came dashing through the 
street at a racer rate — amazing all eyes — and through the 


1 


436 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

cheering crowd, nor slacked his pace until he had borne , 
his tall, ungainly rider, through the broken gateway and 
to the very foot of the gallows. There the rider sprang* 
off, and the gallant steed, shaking like an aspen-leaf, and 
sweating great drops like rain, sank to the earth exhausted. • 

‘ Thank the Lord ejaculated John, ‘I aint too late. 
Stop that hangin’ business up there I Which is the Sheriff ? 
Sir, just peruse that ’ere dockymunt I’ and he handed the 
officer a formidable paper which he had pulled from his 
bosom. It bore the ample seal of the Commonwealth of 
Massachusetts, and the signature of the Governor. 

‘ It is the unconditional pardon of Nathan Mudge I’ 
exclaimed the Sheriff, surveying with joyful surprise the 
important paper. 

‘ Because Tom Braxton confessed yesterday on the gal- 
lows, in New York, that he, and not Nathan Mudge, set 
fire to Giles Godwin’s house,’ shouted John Hard, loud 
enough for many to hear. 

Nat’s first impulse was to kneel, and with clasped hands : 
and streaming eyes, thank God for his deliverance. ■ 

The Sheriff then read aloud from the scaffold the decree 
of pardon. Wildly followed the glad cheers of the excited , 
people, who filled the prison yard. The shouts were- 
repeated by the crowds of spectators in the neighboring 
windows and upon the house-tops, and high piles of lumber j 
adjacent, and echoed in the contiguous streets ; for a con- ^^ 
viction of the prisoner’s innocence, succeeded almost : 
instantly by the news of his pardon, had spread with elec- ' 
trie rapidity. Even the inmates of the jail cheered lus- 
tily, and, thrusting their hands through the sombre grated 
windows, waved their handkerchiefs. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 43t 

In the midst of this furore, the long legs of John Hard 
might be seen mounting the scaffold. Nat met him at the 
top and hugged his deliverer in his arms. Another enthu- 
siastic hurra — another and another I Will the people 
never have done cheering ? 

The stalwart John Hard wept like a child. ‘Pm a 
great gawky baby/ he blubbered, ‘ I know I am ; but I 
can’t help it.’ 

Nathan cast from him the white garb that was to have 
been his shroud, and descending the ladder quickly, 
embraced the glad old man, Giles Godwin. 

Leaving John Hard alternately wiping his eyes, and 
rubbing his faithful beast — or replying to the curious 
inquiries of those who thronged around — Nathan repaired 
with Giles and the clergyman to his cell, to resume his 
proper apparel. There he was encountered by his sister, 
who, informed by the jailor of what had occurred, had 
hastened thither to await, with what feelings need not be 
described, his coming. 

Abandoning them to their congratulations and rejoic- 
ings, the happy old man, as nimble-footed now, he said, 
as a deer, returned to the jail-yard to get John Hard to 
leave * the colt’ in charge of the turnkey, and accompany 
Nat and Susan and himself, in their carriage, to his 
house. 

The animal had regained its feet, and was wiping his 
nose affectionately against the shoulder of his master, who 
was rubbing down its* fore legs smartly with a large calico 
handkerchief, upon which was pictured one of the naval 
victories of our country. 

To Mr. Godwin’s proposal, John replied. No he 


438 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


would first have the colt put up safely at Fullam^s, and 
see him eat his oats and a few mouthfuls of hay ; and then 
he would come down to Gileses house, and tell them all 
about it. ‘ But now/ he added, in conclusion, ‘ I must 
rub this critter just as dry as a bone, and trouble some on 
yer for the loan of a blanket, for he’s a leetle the shckest 
beast that ever man straddled yet, to say nothing o’ 
woman. Twenty miles in an hour and eighteen minutes, 
over such awful goin’ as this ’ere colt’s seen to-day, I cal- 
kylate ain’t slow. Square Godwin I’ 

The old man patted the animal’s neck, and called it a 
brave beast, and inquired its name. 

* He never had any name but The Colt up ter this present 
time being,’ replied John, ‘but now I’m goin’ to call him 
GinWal Washington.^ 

‘ A good name,’ said the old man, ‘ but I’ll go and get 
him a blanket I’ and off trotted Giles as blithe as a lark. 

* I’ll give you five hundred dollars for him,’ said a horse 
fancier, in a crowd which surrounded the young farmer 
and his beast. 

‘ No Sirr,’ said John ; rubbing away at the hind legs. 

* Six hundred I’ said the man. 

‘No Sirr,’ said Mr. Hard, looking up an instant at the 
bidder. ‘ Gin’ral Washington don’t go for six hundred 
dollars.’ 

The horse fancier walked around the animal once, care- 
fully scanning his good points, through a gold-bowed eye- 
glass, apparently with much satisfaction, and increased 
his offer to seven hundred dollars. 

‘That’s a stack o’ money. Mister,’ said John, rising 
and sleeking down the long full tail of the animal between 


^ > - 

THE THREE apprentices. :139 

his two great red hands, ‘ bnf no seven hundred dollars dl 
buy this horse, nor no seven thousand neither. Ye couldn’t 
pile up money enough to get him while I live 1’ 

‘No,. John,’ said Giles, who came forward at this 
moment with a blanket, and put it on the horse with his 
own hands, ‘ don’t part with this noble creature, I beg of 
you ! He is worth his weight in gold, were it for nothing 
else than this day’s work !’ 

‘Never fear. Square,’ replied the iarmer, ‘I wouldn’t 
part with him to be the king of Boston.’ 

‘ No Sir,’ interposed a seedy gentleman in black, in a 
high stock without a collar, and with three fingers of his 
right hand held to his mouth to conceal a dental loss that 
made him lisp a little. ‘ No, Sir I oceans o’ money should 
not induce you to part with that invaluabl^nimal 1 but, 
my good man, if you should conclude to dispose of him 
(he whispered confidentially), I should be happy to sell 
him at my auction-mart, 'in Ann-street, opposite the Yeo- 
man’s, without any charge for commission.’ 

‘Yes, Mr. Hagglesfelt,’ replied John, with a broad 
grin, that exhibited almost as large a set of teeth as the 
colt’s ; ‘ when I* put this horse under the hammer, I’d as 
lives you’d knock him in the head as anybody else ! Now 
I’m all sot, Gin’ral Washington and I’ll take up the line 
o’ march. Good bye, Square Godwin I’ and he shook the 
old man’s hand. 

‘ I suppose,’ said Giles, in a lower tone, ‘ that the 
train Edwin and Susan' are on is blocked in the snow, but 
where V 

‘ We made out with only the engine and snow-plough 
to break a way along as far as Westboro’, between ter 


440 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

and eleven, and the regular train couldn’t have been far 
behind,’ replied John. ‘ If yon’ll take a fool’s advic^ 
Square, instead of going home you’ll go right straight 
down to the Worcester depot, and you may meet ’em 
there.’ 

* That is true,’ said Giles thoughtfully. 

* They’ll jist nayterly be glad to see all ye,’ said 
John, significantly, and involuntarily exhibiting his large 
broad white teeth again. 

‘I’ll take your advice, my dear young friend,’ said 
Giles ; ‘but you’ll be sure to come and dine with us, at 
• — say two o’clock.’ 

‘Well, that’s about my hyson time, Square, but hows’- 
ever, living in that monsus city, Xew York, got me used 
to all kinds ^ hours, and so I’ll come^ but I’m an awful 
eater, Square ! A boarding-house woman in New York 
tdd me once, I ate at a single meal enough to victual a 
seventy-four.’ 

Giles laughed with the rest, and reminding him once 
more of the hour, hurried away to join Nat and his sister. 
The three friends then bade adieu to both jail and jailer, 
and passed out via the oflSce on Leveret-street, through 
an immense crowd of people who had been waiting there 
for a chance to get a look at Nathan as he came out. > 
They cheered again enthusiastically, as with his father-in- l 
law ^nd sister, Nat enticed the carriage which stood ‘'w 
thfere, and the vehicle rattled rapidly over the paveDmnts.^ J 
Those were gratifying souncfe in the ears of the chief actor V 
in that day’s drama, those cheers ; fon they indicated that Nj 
'Eis fellow-citizens no longer regarded him with hatred and T 
^ contempt, but with the sympathy and love which he valued ^ 


441 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 

more than life itself. A portion of the crowd more active, 
01 curious, or zealous than the rest kept pace with the 
carriage through Leveret, Green and Chambers-streets, 
as far as the west side of Beacon Hill. 

Meanwhile, J ohn Hard, still in liis shirt-sleeves, though 
it was a December day, was leading ‘ Gin’ral Washington^ 
by the bridle, through Merrimac and Pitts-streets to 
Pullam’s stable — a multitude of admiring people attend- 
ing him and cheering him like a hero. Somebody had 
lent him a cap, and numerous had been the offers of ^ome 
enthusiastic souls, chiefly of the laboring class, to divest 
themselves of their over-coats for his benefit, but he de- 
clined them all ^ on the score’ that his ride had made him 
kind o’ warm and he wanted to cool off. 

% 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

Arrival of Edwin and Kate — Braxton’s last Hour — A Joyful Sab- 
bath- -Edwin returns to New York — Meets with a Declaration of 
Love in Upper Tendom — The Proud Beauty humbled — Jenny’s 
Prospects improving — Harry Price does a sensible thing. 

Nathan and his friends did not have long to wait at the 
depot before the New YoiJ^ train came laboring in, with 
two engines, both puffing and blowing, like two over- 
worked giants, ‘ all tuckered out.’ 

The first to ^^Dring from it as it entered the building, 
was Kate Mudge, followed by Edwin Fairbanks. Her Ji 
bright black eyes espied her aged father and Susan, in an 
19 * 


442 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

instant, and she ran and kissed them ; then leaving Susan 
to the tender care of Edwin, she implored Giles to tell 
her about her husband. 

* You look happy, my father, and therefore I know he 
is safe ; but where ? Where is my dear husband — ^my 
poor Nat ? Where is he ? Is he here V she cried, in 
great excitement. 

It had been arranged by Giles and Susan, that to give 
Kate a delightful surprise, and prevent ^ a scene’ before a 
host of passengers and hackmen in the depot, she should 
not see her husband until she entered their carriage, where 
he was to remain until she should be conducted thither ; 
but Nat could not endure this delay, and when he heard 
his beloved Kate’s rich, mellifluous voice calling for him 
in the fondest accents of love, unable to keep in the back- 
ground another moment, he repeated her name in the 
same tender tone, and advanced to meet her. 

‘ My husband 1’ she shrieked, attracting all eyes, and, 
wild with the sudden joy, sprang into his open arms, and 
hugging him convulsively to her fiercely beating heart, 
covered his face with her kisses. What cared she for the 
etiquette of the place, or the gaping crowd ? She saw no 
one, thought of no one, save her long-imprisoned husband, 
now restored to her, unstained and unhurt, from the very 
jaws of an odious death. And how Nat’s ardent nature 
thrilled with unspeakable ddight at this evidence of her 
unfaltering affection! He could afford to let the people 
stare. The aggregate of all the happiness of all the 
hearts in that bustling crowd was not equal to one tithe 
of his. And now the modest Susan, blushing to the eyes, 
for she cannot avoid mentally putting herself and her dear 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 443 

Edwin in the same relative position as that so affection- 
ately illustrated by her brother and his wife, hurries them 
with a Jk, fie ! into the coach. There are five of them, 
and only four seats, but Kate pulls Kat into her lap, and 
thus prevents any trouble on that score. 

The incidents of the two days, the one in New York, 
fatal to Braxton, and the other in Boston, resulting so 
happily for Nathan, were rapidly glanced over during the 
ride home ; and the smiling countenances became serious 
and thoughtful again. 

Tom Braxton would have made his escape from the 
Tombs the night before the day fixed for his execution, 
but his design was defeated by that which had been his 
curse through the whole of his abandoned career — ^his 
propensity for intoxication. He had drank to excess 
from the bottle of spirits left with him by the attendant, 
and it totally unfitted him to effect the meditated flight. 
He was found at daylight, on the morning of the execu- 
tion, only partially concealed in the hole which he had 
made in the stone floor under his bed, and it was a matter 
for surprise, that the foul air had not suffocated him. But 
he was to die upon the gallows. He was attended in his 
last hours by the priest to whom we have before alluded, 
and it was, perhaps, by his threat, that he would withhold 
extreme unction and make hell his portion, unless he 
publicly confessed to the crfme which Nathan Mudge had, 
been condemned to expiate with his life, that led Tom to 
tell the whole truth, and * make a clean breast of it and 
to this interposition (instigated by the Bishop), that Nat 
may have owed his life. Edwin Fairbanks always attri- 
buted it to the influence of Judge Bogardus with the 
prelate. 


444 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

Braxton’s hardihood deserted him at the foot of the 
gallows, and he ascended it with faltering steps. XJpon 
the scaffold, he repeated the confession made two or three 
hours before in writing, acquitting Nathan, and denounced 
the use of ardent spirits as the cause of his crimes and 
their miserable result. After his execution, his body was 
delivered over to the surgeons for anatomical purposes. 

When Giles and the friends arrived at home, they found 
John Hard already there, and deeply interesting the two 
fat sisters Godwin, in his account of himself ala young 
NorvaL Of course, the parties were very happy at meet- 
ing each other, and very much engrossed (over the boun- 
tiful diniler served by the smiling Bose, and done ample 
justice to by our agricultural friend), in descanting upon 
* all their trials past and perils o’er.’ 

-The next day was the Sabbath, and was it not a glo- 
rious one for Giles Godwin’s household 1 It was hallowed 
by prayer and thanksgiving, and songs of praise to the 
God of their deliverance. And then there was the silent 
melody of grateful hearts, pulsating incessantly with joy, 
inaudible to human ear, but heard in heaven. That is 
the kind of music which the angels love far better than 
artistic harmony of salaried choirs, in grand cathedrals. 

John Hard — ambling * Gin’ral Washington’ very gently 
all the way — went home to pass the Sabbath, and see the 
folks, whom he longed for as the hart panteth for the 
water-brooks. What a meeting was that! All were so 
glad to see him ; even to the hired men, whom he made 
work so faithfully when he was about the place. The big 
dog, Jack, was tickled enough, as a matter of course (all 
dogs are, on such occasions), to wriggle himself clean out 
of his black shaggy hide. Then when he (not Jack, but 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 445 

John) had made a light breakfast off of six pounds of beef- 
steak of his mother’s own frying, and punished a platter 
of apple-sauce and half a squash pie, besides ‘ the trim- 
mins,’ what a narrative he had to spin I And such a 
group of open ears and mouths, and eyes like saucers, as 
he had for an audience during the next two hours, and 
ever and anon throughout the day, and for many a long 
evening, all winter! He was brim-full of information, 
and, Yankee-like, did not care to hide his light under a 
bushel. 

The next week after Nat’s narrow escape, Edwin Fair- 
banks returned to New York, at the request of Kate, to 
rescue Biddy from the certain ruin which threatened her 
soul and body both ; and (at the desire of John Hard) 
to find little Scratch Gravel, with the new phase in whose 
history our agricultural friend had become acquainted since 
his return to Boston. 

As a matter of course, he called at the house of Judge 
Bogardus. The old gentleman was absent with his daugh- 
ter Jane, to see what two or three days in Philadelphia 
would do for her health, but Helen received him with open 
arms, and insisted so strenuously that he should make 
their house his home, during his brief stay in the city, that 
he complied with her wish. 

^ Oh! you cannot conceive, Mr. Fairbanks, what pleasure 
your consent gives me!’ cried Helen joyfully, but blushing 
to the temples, as, still holding his hand, she conducted 
him into the parlor. * I am so lonely here, now that papa 
and Jenny are away!’ 

* Mr. Price calls occasionally, I presume ?’ said Edwin, 
with some archness. 


446 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

* Oh no, I am tired to death of Harry, and am never at 
home to him,^ replied Helen, contemptuously. ‘ He is so 
boyish 1 Besides, he ought to return Jenny^s love.' 

‘ I suspected that your sister liked him,’ said Edwin, 
smiling. 

* Oh, she is head over ears in love with him, poor thing!’ 
rejoined Helen, with a deep sigh, ‘ and I know how to pity 
her ; foolish as she is.’ 

She cast a tender glance at her visitor, as she spoke, 
but his eyes were fixed upon the painting by Velas- 
quez. 

^Mr. Yan Wart — what has he done in regard to the 
boy, who made so singular a claim upon him ?’ inquired 
Edwin. 

* He has clad him nicely, but keeps him close in his 
house — a prisoner, though well treated — for the purpose, 
he alleges, of ferretting out the “conspiracy” of which 
the boy is only a tool ; but it is my own conviction, that 
the poor child told the exact truth.’ 

‘ My dear Miss Bogardus,’ cried Edwin, with a warmth 
that delighted Helen, for she thought there was the 
emphasis of affection in his tone, ‘ you are right! I think 
I have sufficient evidence, that your estimate of little 
Scratch’s simple story is correct.’ He then informed her 
of what, in relation to Master Gravel’s early history, Mrs. 
Mudge had become acquainted with in Judy’s cellar, and 
that the only witness to the facts, the poor Irishwoman, 
was now dead. 

‘Yan Wart ought to, and shall, make some provision 
for this little rascal,’ was Helen’s conclusion, ‘ if I have 
any influence over him.’ 


I THE THREE APPRENTICES. 44t 

j ‘ And that you have, is very manifest/ rejoined Fair- 
I banks. 

^ Yes, I believe I can command him in anything,^ said 
the proud beauty, laughing, ‘ but you need not fear his 
influence over mz, though he has sent me that new piano, 
since you were here lastl^ 

' ' What a magnificent present!^ exclaimed Edwin, whose 

eyes were admiring the elaborately carved rosewood of 
' the instrument ; ‘ I think I never saw its equal / and he 
went to examine it more closely. 

I ‘ Externals are nothing,^ replied Helen, pointedly, yet 
: glancing complacently at the reflection of her own majestic 
figure in a full-length mirror between the windows, * I 
value only interior beauty / and with a look full of signi- 
ficance at him, she opened the piano, and sat down before 
j it, adding, that * its tone was excellent.^ 

[ She ran her fingers artistically over the keys, which 
were of pearl, inlaid with emeralds. Its finest tones were 
the robin’s — its heaviest had a volume of sound, like roll- 
1 ing thunder. 

^ But you do not ask me to play V she said, glancing 
' up into his face, half reproachfully. 

1 * Because I like to hear you converse,’ he replied, invo- 

i luntarily betrayed into a rare thing with him — a compli- 
I ment. How greedily her heart swallowed it 1 Had it 
I been lying in wait ? 

; * But,’ said she, with a look of gratified vanity, * you 

have never heard me play.’ 

* I should be glad if you would sing and play, both,’ 
he replied, * if not too much trouble.’ 

‘ Trouble 1’ she exclaimed, with a reproachful look and 


448 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

emphasis ; yet very kindly. ‘ If you will but turn the 
leaves/ she added, as she placed before her a few sheets 
of lately imported opera music, ‘I will play until you cry 
peccavi P 

Then she performed the overture to the last opera with 
brilliant execution. It was superbly, gloriously done, and 
Edwin Fairbanks could not adequately express his admi- 
ration. His enthusiasm delighted her, for she inferred 
from it the existence of a reciprocal passion — the thought 
being, unconsciously, the offspring of the desire. 

Next, she sang a love song from the same opera, in 
Italian — ‘ burning, yet tender^ — and rendering it con 
expressione, with all the power of a voice so rich and 
flexible, that the most eminent prima donna in the world 
might well envy her its possession ; it lapped the sensuous 
soul in elysium, and thrilled the heart of the hearer with 
the most intense ecstasy. 

As bending over her symmetrical form, he turned the 
leaves of her music, her glowing cheek nearly touched his 
own ; and when she looked into his countenance (as she 
did almost continually while singing), and saw it beaming 
upon her as if he thought her the very embodiment of 
delicious sound, and her warm breath saluted his lips as 
the zephyr does the rosebud which it woos to open; Edwin 
(shall we confess it ? It was too bad, gentle reader, but 
it is our duty to be candid with you,) thought that he 
detected the flavor, or aroma, rather, of her father’s rare 
old wine! 

The truth was, that some old familiar friends of her 
own sex had made a call about noon, and she had treated 
them to a sandwich and a glass of ‘ the 1110/ 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


449 


The spell was broken, and Edwin was enabled to tear 
himself away from the siren, who had held him for some 
minutes, lost to all self-consciousness by the power of her 
fascination! 

O ! ye young ladies, seeking temperate husbands, and 
yet loving a little wine occasionally yourselves, be warned 
by the unhappy Helen’s example— and always eat a 
sugared cubeb, or two, after drinking! 

Mr. Fairbanks suddenly remembered certain business, 
which he ought to transact that day. 

^ Oh no,’ replied Helen, turning upon her seat, towards 
him, and placing a finger upon his watch-guard, while she 
looked deprecatingly into his face, ‘ I am entirely alone, 
with no one but the servants, and the house is as gloomy 
as the Castle of Otranto! With you here, it wiUbe aU 
sunshine! It is bleak and cold out of doors. I’ faith,’ 
she continued imploringly, ‘ you must not leave me, upon 
any pretence, until papa’s return! I have a great mind 
to make you promise me that /’ 

^ Really,’ he replied laughing, as she led him to a sofa, 
and took a seat by his side, * I cannot make a contract 
of that kind.’ 

Why should she have thought that there was more sig- 
nificance in his speech than he intended ? Yet she caught 
at it eagerly. 

^You cannot make a contract of that kindV she said, 
slowly repeating his words, and looking inquiringly into 
his large deep eyes ; "then, with her magnificent face beam- 
ing with love and encouragement, she added, ‘ Will you 
propose any other kuid, Edwin?’ 

‘ Miss Bogardus !’ replied Edwin, coloring and confused, 


450 


NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 


because taken entirely by surprise, ‘ I ^ and here he 

hesitated, and felt more embarrassed than ever before, or 
since. 

Attributing his hesitancy to bashfulness, and even fear, 
Helen, accustomed to the adoration of her suitors, and 
their avowals of affection, came promptly to what she 
imagined would be his relief. 

^ Dear Edwin, ^ said she, smiling archly, yet blushing as 
she laid her hand within his own, ‘ let me help you out ! 
Heretofore I have let my lovers do all the talking ; now, 
surely, I may be allowed for once to speak for myself I I 
will be candid with you. I believe you love me, Edwin 

‘ My dear Miss BogardusI’ said Mr. Fairbanks, but his 
tongue was petrified and he could say no more. 

‘ Call me Helen I’ she replied. * I know why you hesi- 
tate ; you know that I am rich, of a noble ancestry, and 
the idol of a crowd of suitors, the poorest of whom is 
far more wealthy in worldly goods than you are ; but 0 ! 
Edwin, how far more afifiueiit are you in all that makes a 
man truly great !' As she gave utterance to the last words, 
she laid her beautiful hand and arm upon his shoulder, and 
gazed admiringly into his astonished face. 

How should he reject her proffered love without wound- 
ing her pride ? There was a momentary temptation to 
say, for her sake, that he reciprocated her passion, but he 
instantly repelled it as a falsehood, and resolved to speak 
the truth plainly. 

‘ Miss Bogardus,^ said he, removing her arm, and ris- 
ing, but still holding her hand, ‘ I sincerely regret, and 
shall never forgive myself, if my admiration for your sur- 
passing beauty and accomplishments has led me to use a 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 451 

manner and tone towards you, more tender than would 
be proper in a brother or other friend not eligible to the 
honor and happiness of this fair hand in marriage I I 
shall always feel a fraternal affection for you, but I — 1 
am hekrothed to another P 

Helen had sat with heaving bosom, and teeth firmly 
compressed, looking up into his face, as he uttered these 
words, which her ears could scarcely credit. She had 
been crimson through a portion of his reply, but it had 
left her as colorless as yonder parian bust of Hebe. 

‘ Betrothed to another V she murmured through her 
teeth, and with a look of despair ; then added, in a low 
tone, ‘ and you love her 

As I love my own existence he replied. 

A shudder passed over Helen, and for a moment she 
covered her pale quivering face with her hands. 

* She is rich I presume, and far more accomplished than 
I am r 

* No,^ replied Edwin, with a feeling of commendable 
pride, ‘ she is a penniless sempstress, and has for years 
past supported herself with her needle ; but we have 
long been attached to each other, and the longer I know 
her the more confirmed becomes my devotion to her.^ 

‘ Then in God’s name go to her I’ cried Helen ; ‘ put 
hundreds of miles between us, and never let me see you 
more 1’ and averting her face from his sight, she shed a 
shower of tears. 

He walked silently and sadly, towards the door. 

‘ Edwin r she exclaimed, rising and following him 
quickly, ‘ Dear Edwin, forgive my harsh speech. You are , 
not going to leave me without saying, farewdl V and cast- 


452 new ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

ing herself in his arms, she rested her forehead upon his 
shoulder, and wept passionately, for some moments. 

Here was a nice situation for a young gentleman to be 
in, with his ‘ own true love far, far awayl^ 

* May you both be happy sobbed Helen. * I shall 
always love you — I hope as a sister,^ and she kissed him, 
then heaved a deep sigh, and said * farewell P but still held 
his hand, as if loth to let him go. Imprinting upon her 
cheek a kiss so chaste, that Diana herself would not have 
objected, Edwin, deeply moved, bade her adieu, and, dis- 
engaging his hand, hastily departed from the house. 

Upon the sidewalk, just about to ascend the steps, who 
should he meet but Harry Price ? After the customary 
salutation, Henry inquired if Miss Helen was at 
home. 

^Yes,^ replied Edwin, *but she is ill, and would not 
see even you.’ 

* I am glad I have met you, Mr. Fairbanks,’ said 
Harry, taking his arm. ‘ Come,’ he added with the 
utmost cordiality, ‘ as we walk along, let me make a con- 
fidant of you. You have influence with every member 
of Judge Bogardus’s family. !N; ow, I will tell you what I 
want ! Shall I, my dear sir, make free with you V 

‘ Decidedly,’ replied Edwin, smnqj.g at the young man’s 
frankness, ‘if you will reciprocate.’ - 

‘It is a bargain,’ exclaimed Harry.' ‘ Well, then, you 
must know that I love Helen Bogardus — yes, to distrac- 
tion 1’ 

‘ And Jenny?’ said Edwin. 

‘I adnm’e Jenny’s gentle ways, and quiet loveliness,’ 
said Harry, ‘ though she is not handsome. I could like 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


453 


her as a sister ; but Helen I oh, is not Helen perfectly 
gorgeous V 

‘ Yes, but she will never be your wife,^ replied Edwin. 

* Why not V said Harry. 

* Because she loves another,^ was the answer. 

‘ How do you know?^ said Harry, a little confounded. 

^ She told me so, with her own lips,^ replied Edwin. 

‘ And who then is to be her husband V inquired the 
young merchant. 

^Mr. Yan Wart,^ said Edwin, in the spirit of prophecy, 

^And what is to become of meV exclaimed Harry, 
somewhat perplexed. 

* You ought to marry Jenny Bogardus,^ said Edwin, 
smiling. 

‘ Why so V 

* Because she will make you an excellent wife — and 
she loves you!’ 

* WheughI’ whistled Mr. Price. * You don^t mean so ? 
You only guess at it.’ 

‘ I know it,’ rejoined Edwin, firmly. 

* And your informant ?’ inquired Henry, incredulouslys 

‘Was Miss Helen Bogardus.’ 

‘It appears to me, that Helen tells you everything!’ 
rejoined Harry, wiyi the slightest savor in the world of 
jealousy. ‘ Well, Jenny is a nice girl, that’s certain — a 
mighty nice girl ! And now, since you have mentioned 
it, I do remember that' she lookcd queerly when I confided 
to her my fancy for her sister, who, by the way, has 
treated me very shabbily of late.’ 

‘And it is illness from this cause,’ said Edwin, ‘thatjias 
now taken Jenny to Philadelphia, for a change of scene.’ 


454 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

* You don’t say I I thought it mighty queer that she 
should want a change of air, unless a tropical one, in this 
cold weather,’ replied Harry. ‘ Poor Jenny! Oh, what 
a fool I’ve been! How I wish she was back again!’ 

‘ What would you do ?’ said Edwin, smiling. 

‘ Do ?’ replied Mr. Price, earnestly, ‘ I would lay myself 
and fortune at her feet, and beg her forgiveness for my 
past stupidity. Then I’d make her such a husband, that 
the haughty Helen should cry her proud eyes out, that she 
hadn’t married me herself !’ 

‘ You are now, then, on the high-road to happiness, sir!’ 
replied Edwin, joyfully, ^ and I hope you will lose no time 
in consummating your excellent intention.’ 

‘ You may be certai]>of that!’ replied Mr. Price. ‘ Good 
’bv! I will see you on my return.’ 

Where are you going now ?’ inquired Fairbanks. 

^ To the, Philadelphia hoot' said the young shipowner, 
smiling. 

* Excuse me,’ said his friend, ^ but for what purpose ?’ , 

* To bring bade Jenny Bogardus V replied Harry, as with 
a blush and a smile, he hurried away. 

Edwin Fairbanks laughed heartily, and quickening his 
gait, walked rapidly to the Tombs. 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


455 


CHAPTER L. 

The Oppcr Crust — Intended Marriages in High Life — Scratch Gravel 
enjoys an Aristocratic Adoption — The Great Fire — Will Saltpetre 
Explode? — Great doings in Boston — General Results in particular. 
The End. 

Upon arriving at the prison, Mr. Fairbanks ascertained 
that little Biddy’s testimony against her step-father, for 
the murder of her mother, would be taken on the fol- 
lowing Monday — the morrow being the Sabbath — and she 
would then be discharged from custody. His intention of 
removing the girl to a situation in the country pleased 
the Sheriff, and he cheerfully consented that Biddy should • 
be brought into the office to talk with him. The poor 
creature was oveijoyed at the offer when it was made to 
her, and declared she would await his coming at the court- 
room on Monday. He called for her accordingly, after 
the summary conviction of Jock, and conveyed her to the 
kind-hearted Englishwoman wdth w'hom Kate Mudge had 
boarded upon her first visit to Kew York. The worthy 
woman undertook to take care of the child for a few days, 
and (being put in funds for the purpose by Mr. Fairbanks) 
to procure proper winter clothing for her. 

Mr. Fairbanks had wTitten from Boston, by mail, 
informing Judge Bogardus of the pardon of his client, 
and of his intended visit to New York ; and, upon the 
tliird day after his arrival in the metropolis, he found, at 
his hotel, a note from the old gentleman, requesting him 
to call at his chambers in Wall-street. He complied, and 
was received with much affection, and congratulated upon 


456 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

the deliverance of Nathan Mudge. ‘ I love you, heaven 
knows, as if you were my own son, Mr, Fairbanks,^ said 
the Judge, with much feeling (after they were seated), 
‘ and did hope to see you united to one of my daughters ; 
but man proposes, God disposes. They have selected for 
themselves, sir! Henry Price has declared himself to my 
beloved Jenny, and she has accepted him. And all done, 
sir, during our little jaunt to Philadelphia! Her health 
has improved wonderfully.^ 

‘ I am rejoiced beyond measure to hear it!^ exclaimed 
Edwin, speaking the honest sentiment of his heart. 

‘And misfortunes never come single,^ said the fine old 
gentleman, with a hearty laugh — ‘ I was in hopes, and, 
indeed, had a glimmering notion, that my eldest daughter, 
Helen, would prefer you, should you tliink proper to offer 
yourself, but — ha! ha! (and he gave utterance to a rich 
laugh) she would not wait for you, sir ; but has to-day 
accepted the proffered hand and fortune of my friend 
Peter Yan Wart, Esquire. Poor fellow! he had been in 
a bad way of late, on account of her pretended aversion 
to him, and she all the while — the sly minx! — loving him 
famously, and only playing shy to make him settle half 
his fortune upon her, in her own right, before the knot 
shall have been tied. Hal ha! ha! My dear boy, these 
women are shrewd creatures after all! She will have 
three hundred thousand dollars to her own name. Not 
bad, sir ? But this is in confidence. I know I can trust 
you!’ 

‘Implicitly, sir!’ replied Edwin, again heartily rejoiced, 
and intensely entertained with the philosophical turn which 
Helen had given to her affairs, ‘ and I am as glad as I 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


45t 


could possibly be, if these beautiful and accomplished 
young ladies were my own sisters.^ 

* That^s hearty cried the J udge, with a beaming coun- 
tenance, and shaking him warmly by the hand. ‘ But I 
sent for you, upon a little matter of business connected 
with one of these very satisfactory alliances. Peter Yan 
Wart is a liberal man, sir, and he is willing to make some 
provision for the education and support of that little news- 
boy who, you may remember, made so extraordinary a 
claim upon him, in my house, in your presence, a short 
time since.^ 

‘ I remember the circumstance,^ said Edwin, smiling, for 
Judge Bogardus was rubbing the fore finger of his right 
hand with the most unfathomable gravity, slowly up and 
down the side of his Washington nose, and elevating his 
rather bushy eyebrows, in a manner slightly comical. 

‘Well, SLT,^ continued the Judge, ‘as the boy has no 
one to take care of him, and evidently labors under a, 
very strong impression that Mr. Yan Wart ought to, 
that gentleman has in the most philanthropic manner pos- 
sible — you understand me, sir ? (and there was a little 
more chafing of the nose) — consented to pay for his 
board, clothes, and schooling in the country, until such 
time as he shall be old enough to go to sea, and get 
washed overboard, with no danger, ahem I of being cast 
ashore on the beach at Coney Island,^ again. But he 
wants him taken to such a distance from New York, that 
he won’t be likely to spend the holidays here. Now, it 
(^cciwred to me, that if you would take him along with 
yonSilMassachusetts’ 

‘ It is precisely what I desire to do,’ cried Edwin, for 
20 


458 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

the Judge had hesitated in finishing his sentence. * I feel 
a desire to rescue this little fellow from his wretched 
manner of life, and I have a friend — John Hard — an 
excellent farmer in Middlesex county, who would like to 
make something of him.^ 

* Capital — capital — capital V exclaimed Judge Bogar- 
dus, and rubbing his knees with great vivacity in the ex- 
uberance of his satisfaction. * Then come to my house to- 
morrow, at three, my dear sir, and we will arrange the 
details. You will miss Helen, unfortunately, for under 
the escort of Yan Wart (the lucky dog — ^he has outlived 
all his youthful indiscretions I) she leaves to-morrow morn- 
ing for Washington city, to shake hands with that perso- 
nification of obstinate self-will. President Jackson, and 
hear some of the •great speech-makers, of whose quality 
you gave us such a glorious relish the other day ; but 
Jenny and I (and perhaps our good friend, the jolly Ba- 
ronet, Sir John Barrow), will do our best to entertain 
you.^ 

So they parted, and on the following day met again, in 
the Judge’s parlor. In spite of himself, Edwin felt a 
shade of regret at the recollection of a scene which his 
host and his youngest daughter little thought had occurred 
there so recently. In blissful ignorance of the circumstan- 
ces, Judge Bogardus and Jenny (the latter so happy in 
the affectionate attentions of the now devoted Harry I) 
were in the best possible spirits. 

Sir John Barrow was not there, at which little ‘Scratch 
Gravel — ^now nicely clothed — expressed some sorro;^ Jor 
he wanted very much to see * a real live Baronit.’ • Scr^h 
was delighted with the idea of accompanying Mr. Fair- 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 459 

banks to Massachusetts (especially as little Biddy was 
going too), for he had become as sick as death of the 
grand house and cold looks of Peter Van Wart. 

Suffice it to^ay, that the two children of the Five Points 
were taken to Boston, where, after a day’s enjoyment of 
the hospitality of Giles Godwin’s happy family, they were 
received by our worthy friend, Mr. Hard, with many 
rather formidable smiles of encouragement (after he had 
eaten a hearty breakfast with Edwin, Susan, Nathan, 
Kate, ^and all hands,’) and conveyed in a wagon, 
drawn by that veritable ^ colt,’ to his father’s farm-house. 
A few days afterwards, they were placed at school, and a 
month had not elapsed before they had made very percep- 
tible progress. It took a longer time to wean them from 
their rude, and oftentimes indecent language and manners, 
in which the poor children had been nurtured, but by dint 
of a good Sunday-school, and watching them closely at 
home, and promptly checking these evil demonstrations, 
the indefatigable Mrs. Hard, and her noble boy, at length 
eradicated the noxious weeds * growin’ rank as everlastin’, 
(John said) instead of wholesome kitchen stuffs, in their 
moral vegetable gardens — their minds.’ In the meantime 
a great calamity occurred to Scratch’s reputed father. 

While Helen Bogardus and her affianced husband were 
in Washington city, during their brief absence, there 
occurred in New York one of the most memorable confla- 
grations in the history of this country. Full one-fourth 
part of the entire business section of the city, estimated at 
twenty millions of dollars, was consumed by the devouring 
elenfent, and many insurance companies lost their entire 
capitals. It fell heavily upon individuals, also, and Peter 


460 NEW ENGLAND DOTS, OR 

Yan Wart lost half of his immense fortune. This was the 
fire, by the way, which gave rise to the much-mooted, but 
still unsolved problem, ‘ Will saltpetre explode V 

For a few weeks it was believed that he was totally 
ruined, and Miss Bogardus, his betrothed, was considered 
as absolved from the engagement, but the pecuniary loss 
had not fallen upon her heart with a hundredth part of the 
force of the shock which it had received prior to her con- 
tract with Peter Yan Wart ; and proudly spurning the 
suggestion of calculating advisers to abandon him in his 
misfortunes, she hastened the preparations for the wed- 
ding, and married him while he was yet regarded as insol- 
vent. The ceremony occurred in the Episcopal Church ; 
and at the same time and place, Jenny Bogardus was 
made the happy wife of Henry Price, Esq. The latter 
couple took up their residence with Judge Bogardus. 
Helen, hungry for excitement, induced her husband to 
take her to Paris and the Continent, where they passed a 
year in gayety, and returned to find that the property 
remaining to them exceeded three hundred thousand dol- 
lars. Resolving to be as happy as was possible under the 
circumstances, they returned to Paris shortly afterwards, 
and made it their place of permanent residence. Judge 
Bogardus died of the gout about eight years since, leav- 
ing ten thousand dollars in cash, besides a tract of land 
in New York State, as a gift to Edwin Fairbanks, and the 
bulk of his property to Mr. Price and Jenny, who have 
since removed to Bond st., and rejoice in an increased family. 

Within a month after the deliverance of ^ Easy Nat,^ 
from the doom which had threatened him, his sister Susan 
was led to the hymeneal altar by Edwin Fairbanks ; and 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 461 

John Hard performed some of the very tallest kind of 
double shuffles at their wedding, besides doing ample exe- 
cution upon the substantial collation. 

Giles Godwin and his twin sisters, and the parents of 
the bridegroom, together with the entire family of Hards, 
besides the soft-spoken auctioneer — the amiable Haggles- 
felt — and some other friends and acquaintances, were pre- 
sent enjoying the happy occasion. Nathan and Kate, sit- 
ting side by side, with her hand in his, were quiet, yet not 
indifferent observers of this scene ; and though she saw 
his eyes sometimes bedewed with a tear, his wife well knew 
that it sprang from an emotion of gratitude, because God 
had permitted him to live to witness his sister^s happi- 
ness. Never had Susan looked so lovely as now, with her 
tall, graceful form clad all in white, but with a heightened 
color in her cheeks, she stood by the side of her noble 
looking husband (who was so proud of her !) and receiv- 
ed the greetings of her friends. It was the calm beauty 
shining from the pure heart of a high-souled Christian 
maiden. ^ She looks good,^ was John Hard’s appropriate 
remark to the joyful GUes Godwin, who, clad in the s».yle 
which had prevailed a quarter of a century before, and his 
white hair extending to his round shoulders, had put on 
his spectacles to take a fair look at the bride and bride- 
groom. *She comes up nearer, Square, than any live 
woman I know of, to my idea of Martha in the Scriptur’. 
Goodness shines from her jist as nat’ral as daylight.’ 

There were some in the kitchen, too, that were having 
a high old time — Scratch Gravel and Biddy among the 
rest. Thus the wedding of Edwin and Susan passed off 


462 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OB 

happily for all parties, and many months and years of bliss 
succeeded. 

Soon after, or early in the spring, John Hard took pos- 
session of a large farm (which he had selected, and Giles 
Godwin had purchased for Kate and her husband) in the 
interior of the State, and took httle Scratch and Biddy 
with him. A good-sized two-story wooden house, with a 
double piazza all around it, was already upon the place. 
Another was built for Kate by her father ; and Kathan 
Mudge and John Hard have worked the farm ^ on halves,^ 
from that day to this. 

All these co-partnerships have proved as fruitful as the 
best of farmers could desire. There are ten children on 
‘ the place.^ Six boys, with cowlicks, evidently belong to 
John Hard, and for his credit we may say that all these 
lads are by what their father denominated a real true blue 
up-the-stump right down clever Yankee gal, to whom he 
was united in happy wedlock about fifteen years since. 
The other four are all bright-eyed beautiful girls, and Kat 
Mudge, their father, says he is glad of it, for boys are so 
lis*l*le to be tempted and led astray. Kate, their mother, 
is sobered down into a staid middle-aged matron, but is 
as entirely happy ^ ns it ever is the human lot to be, 
Nathan has become a scientific farmer of some note — 
John Hard a practical one, and an influential member of 
the Legislature! His parents are dead, but his brothers 
still reside in Middlesex. 

Giles Godwin lived many years to witness his children's 
happiness. He survived both his twin sisters, and at his 
decease, full of years and honors, he was buried by their 


THE THREE APPRENTICES. 46S 

side, in Mount Auburn. Edwin Fairbanks, Esq,, ‘ the 
eminent lawyer,^ removed to a thriving city in the interior 
of New York State, where he has since become a judge 
of the Superior Court. Political honors have been urged 
upon him, but he resolutely turns a deaf ear to any temp- 
tation that would call him away from Mrs. Fairbanks and 
the education of his children; to whom, by the way, Mrs. 
Yan Wart has sent many presents from Paris. His 
mother, a very aged lady, resides with them — his father 
having departed this life. 

Biddy, grown into useful womanhood, married Mr. 
Mudge’s foreman two years ago, and lives with him on 
the place. 

Scratch Gravel, having been permitted by John to take 
his. surname, was known on the farm and in the neighbor- 
hood as Scratch Hard, but all his hard scratching not 
seeming likely to make a good farmer of him, his friends 
kept him at school — requiring of him no other service 
than a little attention to the horses, of which he was very 
fond. 

About the time that Scratch was done with his rudi- 
mentary schooling, in which he had accomplished wonders, 
his natural father, Peter Yan Wart, Esq., died in Paris, 
and, it being his last request to his wife that the boy 
should receive an education for the ministry, if agreeable 
to him, and assume his family name (as a tardy act of 
justice to his poor mother) Master Gravel was sent at 
the age of sixteen to Amherst College — which was within 
two hours^ ride of the farm. Here, by the grace of God, 
he became a Christian, and was baptized. At the font 
he received the name of JohnH. Yan Wart.* In the course 


464 NEW ENGLAND BOYS, OR 

of time, he became a clergyman, and now labors as a 
home missionary, with great success, among the com- 
panions of his infancy. 

* Gin’ral Washington,^ the priceless animal whom John 
Hard still mentions occasionally as The Colt, though he is 
about thirty years old, has ‘ won golden opinions from all 
sorts of people,^ by his amiable manners and exemplary 
life, and he enjoys, too, a reputation far and wide, for 
being the fastest old horse, in an emergency, that ever 
wore hoofs. Both Nathan and John have had almost 
annual occasions to send him in haste for the good old 
doctor, three miles distant, for the benefit of the rising 
generation, and it was a perfect wonder to see how he 
would get over the ground. On the night prior to the 
advent of Mrs. Hard’s baby (the latest up to this date), 
Lafayette de Kalb — named like the other, in honor of the 
chieftains of the American Revolution (the naval heroes 
of the last war with England remaining to be commemo- 
rated), the noble quadruped was observed to have made 
better time to the doctor’s, and back, than on any of the 
previous years, and his affection for that baby, thus early 
developed, has become really curious to see. He permits 
Lafayette de Kalb to play about his heels with the most 
perfect impunity, and to tottle over him at pleasure wh6n 
he has lain down upon the lawn in front of John’s farm- 
house to roll. It was only last summer that little Laflfy, 
as they call him * for short,’ as John says, fell face foremost 
into a pretty big puddle of muddy water, in which he had 
been irrigating his infantine feet; whereupon the old horse 
took the back waist of the child’s frock between his teeth 
and lifting him up in this way — the baby meanwhile kick- 




THE THREE APPRENTICES. 


465 


ing and roaring lustily at this novel mode of conveyance — 
went very deliberately and deposited him carefully oh the 
floor of the kitchen stoop, to the infinite delight of the 
coal black Rose, who clapped her hands and laughed until 
the tears rolled down her fat cheeks, at so droll a spec- 
tacle. , Of course no money would purchase that animal, 
no quantity of grass, hay, oats and cut-feed is too many 
for him, and no treatment too good. 

Nat and his family, and sometimes John, exchange 
^ visitations’ (as Mr. Hard calls them) with Judge Fair- 
banks and Susan his wife, and then the old times are 
talked over as an appropriate foil to set off in bolder 
relief the happiness with which they are now blest ; and 
they thank Oorf, that ^ their lines have fallen to them in 
pleasant places.’ 





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